


The Dogs of War

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Fantasy AU, In a sense, M/M, Science Fiction & Fantasy, it's a touch hard to stick in a niche, it's all Mycroft's fault, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-06-08 09:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 145,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: Terrifying, devil-like creatures have periodically appeared on Earth through portals that defy explanation as to where they'll appear or what the intention is for opening them.  This new arrival is a bit more of a handful than many, but Greg Lestrade has signed on for the job of tending to the ferocious fellow and he's nothing if not dedicated to giving it his best go...





	1. Chapter 1

“Take it easy, sir. You’re in hospital. In a sense. Try not to move about too much at the moment because you will only hurt yourself further and you certainly don’t need any more of that.”

The creature hissed sharply, but it held only a fraction of its usual ferocity. Dear god but he hurt… hurt as if he’d fallen from the top of a mountain and crashed onto flagstone floor. Which, if his fractured brain recalled properly, was not far from the truth.

“Wh… who are you?”

“Doctor Stamford. Mike, if you don’t like to stand on ceremony. Might I ask the same of you?”

“No.”

“Not a problem. I don’t need your name to treat you and that is what I’m doing, if you were curious. I know… it’s not something you can easily discern for yourself, at present.”

Something the patient himself was realizing to his growing horror. He’d hoped it was simply part of his confusion but, apparently…

“I cannot see.”

“Yes. I’m hoping it’s temporary, but I’ll need more tests to be certain. Do you remember what happened to you?”

“…………………”

“Is that silence telling me you don’t or that you do, but don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Choose as you will.”

“Alright. Then I’ll choose you have a vague sense of things but can’t pin down the details. I’ll tell you what I know, if you’d like.”

“Do as you will. I care not.”

“Alright, then. I’ll entertain you with a story while I patch a few things. Your bad luck was coming through a portal that opened very near one of our military bases. Normally, that might not be quite such problem, at least for you, but… well, you came in flying and that’s something they detect fairly quickly with their radar and such. I’m told they did try and get you to land for a chat…”

‘I do not obey when ordered to reply by humans.”

“Well, your choice, I suppose. In any case, _their_ choice was to blow you out of the sky. You put them through their paces, I’ll give you that much. A squadron of the best the RAF has to offer, and you led them on a merry chase. Your misfortune was that you didn’t know the terrain and got boxed in. I heard it took a missile strike to bring you down. Into a cliff face first, then onto a rocky shoreline to complete the _down_ , so if you feel a touch bruised and battered… well, after a missile strike, what’s a few bits of rock? I suspect you caught missile fragments in your eyes or… _and_ … the impact flash did its own damage. Your next stop is an up close and personal hour with some rather impressive technology so I can determine exactly what’s wrong and what I can do to fix it.“

“Fix? Why? Your kind hate us.”

The snarl was very real, but pain and fatigue in the poor chap’s features told Stamford a real snarl from this creature would do more than make this old doctor tut tut chidingly.

“I thought it was the other way around, actually. Potato, potahto… it doesn’t change the fact that my job is to help you and that’s what I intend to do to the best of my ability. And you won’t even see a bill for it, so be glad you didn’t emerge in America.”

The being lying in the standard-model hospital bed hissed again but it was mostly to satisfy principle. He had never been this exhausted. Or in so much pain. Why had he believed his brother? Portals were savagely difficult to predict, but baby brother assured him he could open a stable one, give him time to locate their people, if any survived. Once again, brother dear’s ego outstripped his capabilities or, more likely, his willingness to test his ideas properly and thoroughly before declaring them perfect in every respect. Yes, the portal had opened on command, but closed again once he’d passed through, stranding him here. And, once again, it was not his petulant sibling who would pay the price for his typical hubris, but _him_. He would fester here, in this barbaric land, an abject and absolute failure. And his failure stretched to those he left behind as his people were, now, without a leader besides his brother who would… would the distractible child even try? He hated everything about even his ceremonial position, so would he stand tall and don the actual mantle of leadership? Who knew. And what did it matter? He would never return home to find out one way or another…

__________

“Ugghhh….”

“Someone’s awake. Probably not happy about the fact, either. Don’t try to move, ok? They’ve got you restrained, only for your own safety, because you’ve got some strength to you, that’s for certain and that’s actually not good when you’ve got bones to mend. You… seemed to be having nightmares and they got worried, you see? I’ll get them off you, though, because I know they’re not comfortable.”

“Do not touch me, human.”

“Not to worry, all I have to do is push a button. Ok, have a wiggle and get a bit more comfortable, if you like. It’s a fairly small bed, though, so don’t wiggle too much or you’ll be on the floor and I’ll have to get some lads in to help you up. You’re heavy for your size, did you know that? It’s not an insult, please don’t take it that way. It’s just that for your size, one of us would be lighter in mass and I… on my own, I’d be afraid to try and manhandle you back into bed and not hurt you more than you already are.”

“You talk too much.”

“Sorry. Maybe I’m a touch nervous. We grow up hearing stories, but I’ve never seen one of your people before. In person, at least. It’s a heady thing. One day maybe I can see your wings. I hear they’re brilliant things, positively brilliant. But not now, alright? Doctor Stamford said they were injured and healing up however they… fit inside you was the best thing for them.”

“I will tear your tongue from your mouth if you do not be silent.”

“That would be hard since I’m not actually in the room with you, but good on you showing spirit. That helps when you’re feeling poorly, I’ve always found.”

“You will die at my hands, jabbering human.”

“Well, not today, because I think they’re a bit broken, at least one of them is. Should mend quickly, though, at least that’s what Stamford said. Your eyes are another story. They’re bandaged, so don’t try to open them. He said that the longer they’re not exposed to light, the seeing parts, that is, the faster and better they’ll heal. And sleep, too! Get lots of sleep. There’s water on the table to your left… right! My left, your right. Must be your left hand that’s the bad one, then. It’s within easy reach, so you can have a sip when you want one. Ooh, you do have a set of teeth, don’t you, even when you’re making a bit of a scary face? Nice and white, though, so I suppose they’re healthy.”

The snarl was accompanied by a low growl, as well as a wish, a great and powerful wish, that the irritating voice would choke on its own words. Perhaps this is how the humans had decided to torture him to death. To be fair, it was working nicely. Another twenty heartbeats of this and said heart would beat no more.

“Anyway, I’m Greg and I’ll be here for you while you get better. Whatever you need, ask and I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“I need to be released from this prison.”

“Well, it’s not a prison, it’s actually a medical facility and I’m not certain you could do more than stumble a few steps out the door before crumpling in a heap, which is probably not the outcome you’re hoping to get. I’ll be honest and say that even if you were tip-top they wouldn’t just let you stroll out the door because you’re a bit too eager to do things like kill people and rip out waggy tongues, but… nobody wants to treat you like a prisoner. Nobody wants to keep you here, either, truth be told. But… don’t worry about any of that right now. Just focus on healing up and those can be conversations for a later time. Until then, I’m here to keep you company and see you tended to. You’ve got my name now, would it be too much to ask for yours?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, Mr. Yes, I appreciate it. Got a second part or third? I don’t know much about your naming system, but I’m Greg Lestrade, for example.”

“Buffoon.”

“Yes Buffoon? That’s an interesting combination, but I’ve heard stranger.”

Agony. Very well, tormentor. Let us see what you can do with a truly regal name to speak…

“Mdkk^zlldg@!ffvyyyyzZz*qkqb%cc%&lmjlNsh@t$*k$hdgg*pwc*&na^jxw&VY*^fl!aT”

“Ooh, whatever that was, it takes a nimble tongue to say. Mine’s likely too fat and lazy to get all of that twisted around properly.”

At least the human recognized his inadequacy. But… what was the true situation here? He did not seem slated immediately for execution, but that easily could be due to planned interrogation/torture sessions to extract information. Or they wanted him healthy for whatever medical experiments they had planned to learn more about his people’s vulnerabilities. Regardless, that meant he had time. And time meant opportunity. This human who was assaulting his ears with dullwitted attempts at humor was likely manipulable by someone with a deft hand and his was extremely deft when his faculties were a touch more intact. The first step was to create a connection, a common understanding. And a name was a useful first step on that particular path.

“If it will terminate this line of discourse… you may call me... M%&$*k$hdgg**&^&T.”

“Yeah, tongue still too fat and lazy for that. Sorry. It sounded good, though. Important and robust.”

Of course it is, insect, I am a king! Perhaps, though…

“M…ik… no, _yk_.. ru… ph…t. Can you manage that?”

“Mycroft?”

No.

“It will suffice.”

“Well done me! That’s a nice name, too. Sounds old, like it has meaning. All names have meaning, I suppose, but some more than others.”

Interesting. Humans infuse names with meaning. Trivial, but any information about the enemy could prove useful.

“What does yours mean?”

“Greg? Don’t know, actually. Plodding and confused, most likely. What about yours?”

Storm Bringer, Destroyer, Fury of the Risen Star and other rubbish the various sages and oracles peddled to those sufficiently stupid and gullible to purchase their nonsense. Usually royals.

“Nothing.”

“Very existential. What’s that thing… nihilism? Something like that.”

“Your prattle holds no meaning for me.”

“That’s a lucky thing, likely, because it’s probably for the best that emo stuff hasn’t reached your home yet. No kids skulking about with dyed hair and skulls hanging from their ears. I admit I skulked about in my day, too, but, at least, it was with some pretty sexy clothes and spikes in my hair. Looked ready for a fuck or a fight, not taking tea with an undertaker.”

Mental note: wresting information from the enemy is a futile task when it is _this_ specimen of the enemy who speaks in some form of cheerful-toned code.

“Leave. I wish to rest.”

“Naptime? Smart idea. When you want my attention, there’s a… take a feel for a dangly thing hanging by the bed. There should be a round button on it. You hit that and it tells me you need something. Even just to chat! There’s a control on the side, too, that will adjust your bed, raise it up or down, but I don’t know if that’s good for you right now. I’ll ask the doctor and pass along what he says. Hate to see you doing yourself a mischief just because you want to sit up a bit for a change of pace!”

“Be. Silent.”

“Oops! Right, sorry. Ok, shutting up now. Remember the button, though. I’ll be close at hand when you want something.”

And by close at hand, Greg meant on the other side of the one-way glass that looked into the tidy room housing a nightmare made flesh with a surprisingly-cultured voice. Tall, lithe, but with a hard edge from the firm, lean muscle showing in all the limbs. Elegant features, but as with the body, showing a hardness that made it a fearsome face, not a kind or merciful one. The dark hair was short and unruly, but that was probably not how the fellow normally wore it. Didn’t fit him. The dark, reddish skin was partly what made him nightmare fuel, but the near-black eyes that gleamed with a light from within did its part, too. Along with the slightly larger than normal, slightly triangular and pointy teeth, four of which, two at the top and two at the bottom were worryingly sharp. Bloke looked like a devil! No tail or horns, and the ears were a bit pointy, which didn’t fit with the devil image, or maybe it did and he wasn’t remembering it right, but… all in all, close enough.

None of that mattered, though. It was his job to take care of the poor fellow and make this time as comfortable for him as possible. Be a helper, a friend, someone to talk to and trust. In time. Wasn’t like his new companion could go and mingle about in public very easily, so having someone to make his new home as contented and enjoyable as possible was going to be important. That someone, lucky for this Mycroft, was Greg Lestrade. It was the job he signed up for, was greatly looking forward to and, despite this one’s persistent petulance, one he didn’t regret in the slightest…


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps death would be a kindness. By the stars, he hurt. He should have known that today, when the shock and… other emotions… had ebbed away, the pain would stand tall and proud before the throne, waiting to be awarded it due. Perhaps some water. The irritating human had said there would be some here to his right… Damnation! Must remember when one cannot see, one should reach out carefully for things one wants. Now, his want was puddling on the floor, being of no help to him whatsoever…

What, though, to do? Ignore it. Ignore the thirst, ignore the pain, ignore everything. He was a king, after all, and not bothered by the mundane inconveniences of life.

Ignoring.

Still ignoring.

Ignoring with a talent that would make all others gape in astonishment.

Still ignoring.

DANMANTION! Where was that accursed button…

“Good morning! Glad you got some sleep. How are you today, Mycroft?”

Mycroft? Oh yes, that was his name. Humans were dolts.

“Thirsty.”

“There’s a pitcher of water on the…”

“Floor. It is on the floor.”

“Oh. Room got invaded by gnomes or something? Pesky buggers, getting into things, knocking them over. I’ll get you more. How are you feeling, though? I can get something for any aches and pains, too, if you want.”

My fortune is yours for one pain potion.

“I am fine.”

“Ok, that didn’t sound fine, so more water and some pain meds.

I did not voice my offer, so my fortune remains with me.

“Do as you will.”

“Thanks! Doctor Stamford will likely be in soon, too, now that you’re awake. How about breakfast? Feeling hungry or is that something for another time?”

Breakfast would be delightful. It could join the water pitcher on the floor for my stomach would surely expel it post haste.

“I am not hungry.”

“Didn’t really think so. When you’re hurting, food isn’t exactly appealing. Let’s see what’s what after your meds kick in. I’ll be a few minutes, but I’ll still know if you hit your button, so if you change your mind, give it a push.”

He never stopped talking. Did he talk in his sleep? Likely so. With great enthusiasm and precious little sense. But, at minimum, he appeared a competent servant. Or spy. Probably the latter. Positioned as a servant to better observe for weaknesses and gather information. Well, it was not an unfamiliar gambit and one he could easily turn to his own advantage. And for more reasons than securing pain medication. Which, hopefully, would arrive quickly. His pain was developing its own pain and the situation was threatening to go exponential in short order…

__________

“Here you are, Mycroft. Hold on a bit and let me… have you ever used a straw?”

The voice… the servant was here in the room. Interesting…

“Some human nonsense, I suppose.”

“Yeah, basically. But it helps you drink when you’re not quite in an easy position have that drink. I doubt you want to sit up yet, so this is the best option. How about a pain pill and then a long drink of cool water to wash it down?”

A delightful proposition. It almost makes me regret what I am about to do. Almost.

“Very well. If I must.”

“You’ll certainly feel better and that’s a good way to start the day. So, I’m going to put you pill right there in your palm and… urk…”

“And what? I did not quite catch that last part.”

What with my hand around your throat. Which I accomplished without the use of my eyes. I shall award myself handsomely for that bit of dexterity and aim at my earliest opportunity.

“Mkft… leme go.”

“Hmmm? What was that? Well, I doubt it was of much consequence. Or, at least, won’t be very soon.”

As I crush the life out of you and walk… stagger… out of here to escape. Somehow.

“Bad… bad idea.”

“No, I think not. Just a moment longer and it shall concern you no more.”

Oh, why wait? Here, let me do you a kindness and snap your neck like a…AAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

A high-voltage blast ripped through Mycroft’s battered frame and sent every nerve into a tortured spasm of pure, elemental agony that stopped as abruptly as it began when Mycroft released Greg’s neck and Greg released the tiny switch on his ID bracelet that engaged his emergency assistance.

“Je… jesus, Mycroft. Did you… did you think… oh fuck that hurts… did you think I was defenseless? Please… please don’t make me do that again. Please don’t. I really don’t want to and… shit, why’d you do that? Oh… look at you…”

Crumpled on the floor, in your spilled water… how scared and desperate you must be…

“Here, I’m going to help you back into bed, so p…please don’t do anything silly, ok. Just… use your legs a bit, can you? Good, just like that and a little more… one good heave, let me know if I hurt you, ok? and… there. Let me get your legs all squared away and get your blanket back on… it’s a touch wet but there’s another over here, so I’ll swap them for now.”

Mycroft lay there breathing hard and cursing how brutal the pain was _from_ breathing hard. Stupid. He’d assumed the humans wouldn’t value a servant, but of course they would value a _spy_. Stars in the sky but that hurt. It was fortunate that he’d spilled the water pitcher because it very likely camouflaged the urine that he’d added to the floor. Insult added to injury was too much to bear at the moment.

“Oh… your gown is also wet.”

Only from water, of course.

“I’ll… will you let me change it for you? There are fresh ones in here and they’re easy to change, designed that way, actually, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Every nerve is howling in agony, wretched human. Comfort is a ludicrous construct at this point.

“I c…care not.”

“Ok, then. I… give me a moment, because that really hurt, just so you know.”

“It was intended to kill you, so rejoice at your g…good fortune.”

“Lovely. I know… I know this isn’t what you want, Mycroft. I do. But… please don’t try anything like that again. I’m not here to hurt you, not at all. Just help, so… don’t do that again.”

Greg was actually surprised that the rude noise Mycroft made was fairly human in type. And, after he’d gotten the wet gown off Mycroft’s body, he got further information about what with his charge was human in type. He took great pains not to stare, but curiosity kept his gaze on the creature’s naked body a second or two longer than necessary to get a dry gown onto his form. The coloring and musculature over his body was predicted by his limbs and, taken in sum, _everything_ was notably human in structure. Well, question answered. Except for various bits of decoration, they were very human-like, at least in appearance. The strength was an aberration and there were probably a host of other things that were different, but there were some things in common, at least.

“There. That has to feel better. And… yep, there’s a bit of water left in your pitcher, enough to wash down your pill. I’ll still only give you one because Doctor Stamford said these affect your people more strongly than ours, but if it’s not enough, just ask. I have more and there’s no use you hurting when you don’t have to. So, we’ll try this again. I’m putting a pill in your palm and when you’ve popped that into your mouth, I’ll put a straw to your mouth. Just suck a little and voila! Water. Go ahead, there’s no good to come from being stubborn.”

Which was Mycroft’s preferred plan, actually, but the thought of enduring further of his brain-melting pain was just too much at the moment. So, one pill into the mouth and one long sip of water through the odd tube and, supposedly, relief would arrive at some point in time.

“That should start working fairly quickly, so I’ll get you more water and… I’m not sure if those pills will make you drowsy, but I’ll also show you how to access some entertainment you can listen to.”

“I care not.”

“You say that a lot, so I suspect you don’t always mean it. I’ll show you in any case and, one thing you might care about is a bit of personal business. Need to use the toilet?”

Not anymore.

“No.”

“Ok, not surprising, since you’ve had naught for food and just that sip of water. When you’re ready I can show you where it is. It’s here in the room, so you don’t have to walk but a few steps and there’s even a privacy wall so you can tend to that or bathe and not worry you’re being spied on. I’ll help you with your first bath, though, probably, because I wager you’ll want it soon and may not quite be up to doing all the washing yourself.”

A bath. A long, blisteringly hot bath. The mere thought of it was nearly orgasmic in intensity of pleasure.

“I have no interest in such a thing.”

“Your voice didn’t have nearly its usual level of acid, so I think that was a bit of a lie. Let’s see how you feel after your pain meds have started to work. Tomorrow, though, for certain, alright? A hot bath or shower always makes me happy when I’m feeling poorly, so we’ll see you get one sooner than later. You rest a bit a let that pill do its work. I’ll bring back more water in a moment.”

Greg took a moment to pop into the small bath area and grabbed a towel to quickly dry the wet floor, then took the towel and water pitcher out of the room, pausing a moment outside to breathe deeply while his nerves were given permission to scream to the heavens.

“Greg? Want to tell me what happened?”

“Doctor Stamford… oh, nothing. He got a bit agitated and spilled his water when I was giving him his medication.”

“Is that how you got those bruises on your neck?”

“I clutched my pearls too hard when one of the lads told a randy joke.”

“Funny. You know, when your emergency response is activated, it does let us know what’s going on. I didn’t have anyone interfere because by the time we got here, it looked like matters were settled and… well, you’ll need to build some trust with him and us barging in like the bloody army wouldn’t be a good start to that.”

“No. He’s not ready to trust anyone right now. So, so angry, but also just as scared, I suspect.”

“Well, it’s his own fault he’s in this mess, so don’t be too sympathetic.”

“Maybe. I’ve heard, lots of people have, that the Night Devils aren’t the ones opening the portals.”

“I’ve heard that, too. Don’t call them Night Devils, though, Greg. Sounds like some bloody villains from a comic book.”

“Fine. What then? Aliens? Others? What’s the official term?”

“This week? Visitors, I believe. Makes them sound less threatening so the old dears aren’t as apt to phone the police whenever some poor chap in a red shirt has had a few too many and is staggering along the pavement in front of their house.”

“The poor chap likely doesn’t have a set of wings on him, though.”

“My own mum, without her specs, would mistake a knapsack for a majestic set of wings, so that’s not much of an identifying feature, I’m afraid.”

Greg laughed, then stopped because, now the adrenaline was wearing off, his neck was reminding him of the insult it had suffered and chiding him for not making amends in a timely fashion.”

“Hurting a bit, are you, Greg?”

“A bit.”

“Well, let’s take a look at you and I’ll give you a little something for inflammation and pain.”

“After I get him his water, ok? He’s not had much but a small sip since they laid him in that bed.”

“Alright. You know where to find me. And Greg… when you work in health care, you do have to tolerate quite a bit, but… there’s a limit. You don’t have to stand for abuse that’s knowing and intentional. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t. Don’t forget, yourself, I’m pretty good at laying down the law with miscreants and ne’er do wells.”

“That you are! It did slip my mind, I do admit. Don’t wait too long to come and see me, though, about your throat. I want to nip the swelling as much in the bud as I can.”

“I’ll be quick. Thanks, Doctor Stamford. I appreciate this.”

“Your tax payments working hard for the greater good.”

“Too bad the greater good doesn’t include a pub on the premises.”

“Your word to the government’s ear.”

Stamford started back to his office, very happy that their new care provider was as tough as his file indicated. This new Night De… Visitor was strong. They all were strong, but this one took a hell of a lot more abuse than others had before capture and was clever, besides. The commander of the air division that brought him down said they very nearly _didn’t_ , since the bugger had them flying in patterns that damn near took the whole lot of them out of the sky by colliding with each other. Smart. Very, very smart and powerful. It was a shameful thought, but he’d breathe a little easier when their guest was on his way to his new home and was a worry off this overworked doctor’s mind. But, that would just be the start of Greg’s…


	3. Chapter 3

Humans were uncultured, uncouth wretches. However… there were a few, only the scantest, slightest few, of course… options for listening entertainment that were not entirely soul-draining. His human creature had spent eighteen eternities explaining how a simple sound transmitter worked and how to move between the frequencies to discover something that was not immediately vomit-inducing. Nothing of news was on offer, which was unsurprising, but unhelpful. There was some _small_ help to be found, though, in various musical compositions which, along with the pain medication had helped him find sleep and wallow in it for far longer than he might have expected.

Now, other concerns were pressing. The first he might address himself, but the second would require directing his servant and that meant… why was the man so utterly ludicrous? Was his body somehow powered by using his tongue as a generator to produce electrical current? It was as if his brother was here, for pity’s sake. Even the level of ludicrousness was on par with brother dear’s finest showing.

The room… from the echoes of sound, the room was moderately-sized and square. The walls were dense, as was to be expected for a prison, but not homogeneous in their providings. Two were unbroken stretches of material, but one held a space of near-equal density but different composition than the rest of the expanse. The same was true for the fourth, but that space was larger and positioned facing the foot of this bed. Surveillance window? Possibly. The high density was interesting, however, perhaps not so interesting given the purpose was to keep him in here and there was much he could reduce to rubble, even in this diminished capacity.

Furnishings… few. But that was of no consequence. This bed and the table next to it, something blocky to the left, another something blocky, but not as wholly solid against the wall with the smaller, non-homogenous space… window, probably. And… desk? Yes, the shape was fairly desk-like. How quaint. The privacy wall his servant spoke of was to his right. It created an alcove where one pressing concern could be alleviated if his legs deemed him worthy of the reward and deigned to keep him upright for short trip.

Sit up. Perhaps that was a mistake. However, his life was marked by them, as it was for everyone, so moving along. Swing legs… swing legs… use arms… arm… to lift leg and second leg to flop as if all muscle motility had vanished into thin air. He was exhausted. Not for lack of sleep, but from expending his energy at a punishing rate and having little time or resources to replenish it. That did not matter, not in the slightest, to his pressing concern… oh little button, how I do despise you…

“Good morning! Fine one it is, too. How’d you sleep?”

My ears weep with despair at the sound of your voice.

“I slept.”

“Factual… nothing wrong with factual. What can I do for you?”

“The toilet.”

“Legs a bit wobbly? Yeah, Doctor Stamford said they might be. Downside of your pain medication is it can leave you a bit floppy. Just a moment, I’ll be right in.”

That was something to remember. He must dispense with the use of pain medication the instant it was feasible. 

“Here we go… let’s get you up… I’ve got you so have a step… and another. Doing great! Just a couple more… there’s a support bar to your right, feel about and hold onto it… ok. I won’t ask sitting or standing for the toilet, because you can do both bits of business sitting if you have to and it’s safest for you in any case. So, let’s get you situated…”

“Go away.”

“Once I’m sure you’re not going to lose your balance that’s exactly what I am going to do. So, let’s see to that and… ok. I’ll change your bedding, so you have something fresh and clean to return to. Give me a shout when you’re ready for me again.”

Vile insect. But I arrived here without resorting to crawling, so you are a beneficial insect for certain matters of comfort. And, thus far, for the most part, comfort had been adequate. It was a minor thing, given he had no idea the reason for it, but it was a piece to the puzzle of the humans’ psyche. They were not, as yet, overtly cruel but, _also_ as yet, they had not begun any degree of active interrogation. That would certainly come, and it would be a matter of contrasting those techniques with what they were affecting now to gain a better perspective on how to proceed. Assuming, of course, he had not escaped by then or been executed. However, if one did not formulate contingency plans, then one would surely be caught unawares when the opportunity arose to implement them.

For the moment, however… what was his name, again?

“Grong!”

“Greg?”

“Is that you?”

“It’s my name. Were you trying to get my attention?

“Yes.”

“Then you were close! It’s a contrast, isn’t it? My name is tiny thing compared to that… extensive… one you have. Ready to come back to bed?”

“No. I desire a bath.”

“Not a bad idea! The tub is a bit small for a man your height, but it’s not too bad, really. At least you have both, a shower and a bathtub. I’ve had my share of flats where only one or the other was on offer and it never failed, whichever one I had, I always found myself wanting the other one instead. I talked to Doctor Stamford and mentioned you having a nice bath and maybe some actual clothes. He’d like you to keep your evil old hospital gown for one more day because he’d like to run another battery of tests on you this afternoon, nothing painful, I promise! Well, maybe a few pricks if they want a bit of blood, but that’s not more than an annoyance really. In any case, after that we can see you with an actual shirt and trousers. Underthings and socks, too, which I know makes a world of difference in how you feel. It’s hard to feel hale and hearty, or even more than half-alive, in one of those flimsy gowns.”

“Are you hoping to bathe me with the vapor in the vast quantity of your verbally-expended breath?”

“Ha! There I go again. I suppose it’s because you’re a good listener.”

There, if any was required, stood proof of the man’s insanity.

“Doubtful.”

“Ok, true… regardless, I’ve got your bed tended to and now, let’s work on that bath. And, what do we have… everything! Soap, towels, shampoo and all the other things we’ll need like no-slip strips in the tub and nubbly flannels so they soap up with lots of lather. I know that’s not necessary for a good wash, but who doesn’t like lather? Nobody I want to know. Now, I’ll ask you if you’re alright with me… I’ve seen you in the altogether once but that was a bit of an emergency and that can seem a different thing than when it’s not. Are you ok with me helping you get out of that gown and into the tub?”

The human seemed prudish about nudity. Interesting. Utterly non-useful, but interesting.

“I care not.”

“I’d appreciate an actual yes, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to do anything you’re actually uncomfortable with if I can help it. Emergencies are a different story because… well, they’re emergencies and that’s that, but it’s… it’s more than disrespectful to violate your privacy like that, especially when… well, so much of what’s happening to you right now is a violation of privacy, if I’m honest. Not that I can do anything about that, but I can try not to make it worse. Make sense?

No, because you are human and entirely devoid of respect for my people. However, you do seem a rather sad specimen of your species… perhaps you are considered defective and that is why you are condemned to labor here in this ghastly place.

“I care not.”

“About what? There was a lot of stuff in all those whirly words and I need a bit more of a clue.”

Yes, obviously defective.

“I care not if you view my body.”

“There! That I understood and I’ll thank you for it. I’d worry about you trying to get in and out of that tub right now, what with just getting your feet a bit back under you. That’s a sure way to hurt yourself and you certainly don’t need any more of that.”

Greg got water going in the tub, then helped his charge stand and loosened the ties on the hospital gown so it fell to the floor for Greg to toss in the laundry bin when he’d gotten the bath underway.

“How hot do you like the water?”

“Hot.”

“Ok, but how hot?”

“I doubt you can exceed my comfort level.”

“That’s not the point. The point is to make you comfortable. Here, hold on…”

Greg turned off the cold tap and let the hot water flow a moment before wincing while letting it pool in his hand to hold up for Mycroft to feel.

“Adequate.”

“Really? That would be a misery for me.”

“You are weak.”

“It’s probably more that you’ve got a higher heat tolerance due to being… not human. You didn’t burn, for example, when you got hit with a missile and there’s got to be a lot of heat associated with that. Maybe I can stand cold better than you, though, so it evens out. But, I’ll let the hot tap run and we’ll do a final check before you step in. Since you haven’t asked or anything… I suppose you have bathtubs at home.”

‘How else would we bathe?”

“That’s why I said I suppose you have bathtubs at home and didn’t actually ask the question. I don’t know anything about where you come from, but I’d like to learn...”

I am certain you would, spy.

“… luckily, we’ll have lots of time together so you can paint a good picture of your home.”

Lots of time together… this human seemed to have little capacity for true duplicity, so could that indicate an execution was not in the immediate future? That certainly did not preclude any and all manner of torture, but that he could endure. It was not possible, however, to escape once one was deceased, so perhaps there was still hope on that score. If the human _was_ a far more talented liar than he seemed, though… no. No, he would know. This irritating insect was likely no more than he appeared, so… best keep watch for an opportune moment to circumvent his accursed weapon, deliver him a quick and silent death, then escape this prison to begin affecting a way to the home about which the human was attempting to gather information.

“My bath?”

‘OH! Yes, sorry. Still room in here for you, even with all the water, but I’m glad you reminded me. Hate to have to mop the floor because I made a mess of everything. Here, I’ll take your hand and let you check… is that too hot?”

It was warm. Very agreeably warm…

“Tepid, at best.”

“Well, that’s not the worst possible thing, I suppose. I can’t do anything about it now, but once we… well, another day I’ll likely be able to see you with something warmer. So, lift whatever foot you like to put in first… a little higher… there you go, now forward a bit… good, now down slowly so you get a feel of how deep it is. Second leg now, don’t worry, I’ve got you… good! Have a sit and I’ll keep hold of you until… there. Soap to your left, but it’s the squeezy soap, so…

“What abomination is that?”

“Soap you squeeze! I thought with your bad hand, this would be easier. Reach over with your good arm and feel for a bottle. There you have it. Now, there’s a little flip thing on the top, so when you find… here, let me show you. Feel it? Now, lift up and when you turn this upside down and give it a little squeeze, the soap comes out. Don’t squeeze too hard or you’ll have it all in the water and not on you, which isn’t any good. I’ll put a flannel over the edge of the tub, so you can wet it, then put the soap on that or right into your hand. I suspect you’ll want to do as much as you can alone, but it’s likely you’ll need help with the hair since you don’t want to get your bandages wet., so when you’re ready for that, let me know and I’ll tend to it. Or let me know _anytime_ you want a spot of help. I’ll be tidying in here or having a listen to the radio. Both, maybe! Why not both?”

“Leave.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Blathering on again. Best get to the tidying…”

Greg left his charge alone to get started, but kept an ear open for the sounds of washing, which began quickly enough for his satisfaction. Too long and something might be wrong that Mycroft didn’t want to mention because he was a prideful… arrogant, to be honest… sort of fellow and cutting off his nose to spite his face was _not_ an unlikely strategy, if the nose being cut off wasn’t one of the important ones. But it sounded good so far! Splashing and rubbing… Stamford said it’d be a few more days for his hand to heal, wouldn’t it be nice if humans could knit bones that fast, and the overall muscle damage was quickly healing, too. That mean taking down the pain medication, which would give their guest more freedom of motion.

On the latter score, he’d be optimistic about it. More mobility meant far more ability to do all sorts of nasty damage to persons and things which, given _he_ was the person most commonly interacting with this chap, brought a tidy dark cloud to the situation if he allowed it to form. Which he wasn’t. They were going to be together for… well, it was impossible to say for how long, but long enough that they’d have get along or, at minimum, tolerate each other. For his part, that wasn’t going to be hard, unless Mycroft was launching attacks at him morning, noon and night, but Mycroft probably would need longer to settle into things. He seemed a bright fellow, though, so he should see quickly why a cordial relationship was going to benefit them both. But, intelligence and ego often liked to go to war, so only time would tell…


	4. Chapter 4

“Long day for you, Greg.”

Greg smiled at the cheery man strolling down the corridor with a steaming mug of what smelled like herbal tea in his hand.

“Doctor Stamford! Long, but not so bad, really. Early start, but got our guest cleaned up nicely, same for his room, then kept him company for some radio listening. He wasn’t very much for eating, but he did nibble a bit of toast with jam and only said it was ghastly, so I think it was a hit.”

“Excellent. I suspect he’ll eat better tomorrow, but let me know if he doesn’t. Any complaints of nausea?”

“No, but I’m not certain he would. He doesn’t seem to like to show any weakness.”

“Well spotted. But, that’s actually true for many patients as any doctor will tell you. However, if he seems uncomfortable and still avoids food, I may change his medication. To what, I have no clue, because what he’s on has worked well for others of his species, but there’s no reason to believe it’ll be effective for all of them. Fluid intake?”

“Not shy about taking water. I may try some tea today, if only for the warmth and change of pace.”

“Good! I don’t know what we have for fizzy soda but try that tomorrow, too. They seem to like it as much as the kids.”

“Really?”

“Strange as it seems.”

“Then I’ll certainly give it a go. If we don’t have any, I’ll buy some tomorrow when I’m out.”

“Your appointment is at eleven, right?”

“Yeah, then I’m having lunch with a few friends. I’ll be here by two, though, so…”

“Take you time, Greg, there’s no rush. You take care of what you need to and I’ll keep an eye on our friend. It’ll give me a chance to talk with him a bit more and see if he can give me any information about his healing ability. I’m worried about his eyes. It’s not surprising they’re taking longer to heal than the rest of him, but they seem to be lagging quite a bit by comparison. Might be perfectly normal, might indicate greater damage than I detected or the treatment protocol I’m following isn’t effective. I’m hoping he can point me in the right direction.”

“Good luck with that. I can scarcely get him to admit he needs to piss.”

“I’m made of stern stuff.”

“I’ll stern my stuff up a bit with a few pints tomorrow, just in case he’s in a temper after your stuff has had its way with him.”

“You do that! Alright, then, I’m off for another look through the literature on our friend here before I have my own few pints. Someone’s on call, though, if you need anything.”

“I make sure to scream. Have a nice evening, Doctor Stamford.”

“You, too, Greg.”

Greg watched the doctor continue on to his office and decided to make a detour before bringing Mycroft the clothes he’d promised. It _had_ been a long day and a good cup of coffee was the perfect thing right now for his flagging energies. It was amazing how a parade of simple things could wear you down. His mum was right! Always said that her tea breaks were absolutely necessary even though, to his young and stupid self, all she seemed to do was stroll about this house tidying things and stirring a pot now and again on the stovetop. Now, his older and slightly-less stupid self found doing that only for one person an unwelcome burden, even though he wasn’t too particular about how neat his flat was or whether he was wearing yesterday’s trousers, but with two people to manage? Especially one who, he suspected, would go a tad volcanic if things were untidy or he was fermenting in the same clothes or bedding for too long. Well, Greg Lestrade was on the case and there would be no fermenting on his watch! The fermenting could take place at the brewery, where it was right and proper, and he could enjoy it vicariously at the pub…

__________

“Knock, knock!”

Oh goody.

“I have no need of you, Grank.”

“Greg. And you know that, so you’re just being tetchy. Poirot not doing it for you today?”

“He is an imbecile.”

“So, you’re liking it, then. Thought you might. He’s got a disdain for the clueless berks like you do, so you’d probably get on famously if he was real and happened by for chat. There are loads of audio presentations of his stories, so you’ll not be wanting for something new when this one’s done. I’ve got a surprise for you… wanna know what it is?”

“Your death?”

“No. Well, not today, so that’s your ill luck, I suppose. How would a real set of clothes do for you today?”

“I care n… what sort of clothes?”

“Basic stuff. Shirt, trousers, underpants… socks to keep your feet warm if you need them and slippers for walking about. There’s a jumper here, as well, for warmth, but the room isn’t bad, so I expect you won’t need it. Pyjamas for sleeping, too. Or, you can just stay in those all day. There’s a top and bottom, so it’s nearly clothes, just a bit lighter, roomier and with stripes.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. Probably because it was that or polka dots.”

“What are polka dots? They sound ludicrous.”

“Not if you’re six, they’re not. Are you six years old?”

“No. I…”

Greg watched Mycroft’s face take on a disgruntled expression and he chose to wait until it ungruntled itself on its own without his able-bodied assistance.

“… I do not know, actually. I have no concept of your passage of time, simply the words that describe it.”

“Oh! Well, that’s a bugger. You could be six of our years but more of yours. Got it. Well, let’s say I doubt you’d be happy with polka dots and we’ll leave it at that. So, what’s your pleasure, sir? Clothes or pyjamas? I should ask, I suppose, if you know what pyjamas are.”

“Clothes.”

“It’s a debatable point, whether they’re clothes or not, but…”

“I choose clothes. Pyjamas are nightwear.”

“That they are! Ok, clothes for you. While we’re getting you changed, you can tell me how you know what pyjamas are, but not polka dots.”

“No.”

“You want to and you know it.”

“No.”

“You do. I can tell. Ok, let me help you sit up properly so we can start with the shirt. Off with that miserable gown… voila! The shirt’s a pullover, so no pesky buttons, but it’ll still be a touch difficult until your hand heals. Which should be soon! Doctor Stamford was confident it’s almost there, so we can expand your wardrobe choices then. So, lift your arms for me and I’ll be careful of your hand… good! Fits, too. Now, why don’t you know what polka dots are?”

“Continue dressing me.”

“How does it feel with just a shirt on and no trousers? Most don’t like that, but maybe you like to let the old chap fly and be free.”

“I have no idea what… you are defective.”

“Yeah, that’s true, but I still have your trousers hostage and it’s a simple question. I really am interested in the answer, too. I like learning new things.”

“Most spies do.”

“That’s what you think I am? That’d be funny. It’d be sexy, actually. Spies are clever and sexy and get cool weapons and cars… I don’t have any of that, so I think that leaves me out of the club.”

“I do not expect you to admit it.”

“Well, that’s easy then. I’m still hostage-taking your trousers until you reveal all about the polka dots. And straws. Forgot about that one. Tell me about straws, Mycroft.”

“They are for acquiring liquid.”

“Stop being stubborn and just tell me how you know English like an expert except for _some_ words. I don’t even think a real spy could do much with that information except be happy because it means he can talk to you without a bilingual dictionary or translation app.”

“App?”

“Another one! Just tell me… please.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please? And, how’s your legs? Getting cold yet?”

“How dare you!”

Greg looked about a moment before realizing the deep rumbling was coming from the man in the hospital bed.

“Ooh… you really do growl well, I’ll give you that. I couldn’t do that on a bet. Come on, Mycroft… I’m actually trying to learn about you and your people. Not in a creepy spy way, but just in a ‘hey, I’d like to know more about you’ way.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the sort of answer my mum would give, so it’s good enough for me.”

“Your mother is…”

“No… no, that’s a bad idea. Unless you’re going to say my mum was a kind-hearted, hardworking woman who was loved by everyone she knew, then do continue.”

Mycroft was highly intrigued by the actual gleam of hardness in Greg’s tone, tinged with the sharp shade of a clear and eager dare. His servant was not as docile as he’d believed…

“Given I cannot imagine myself saying that, I shall decline to continue and save my valuable breath for more truthful words.”

Yes, little insect… I can feel you wrestling with the desire to do something a touch rash from both my words and the taunting tone I used to utter them. Ah… too bad. That regretful huff of breath… you are choosing what I have no doubt you believe is the ‘higher’ path. Such a pity. I would have been justified in causing you an amusing amount of damage if you opted to strike first. And, now I know of your little defense mechanism, I have precise ideas concerning how to act to _inflict_ that amusing amount of damage before you can retaliate…

“Yeah, nice might actually do something dreadful like warm your heart and we can’t have that now, can we? And, speaking of warming, how’s your arse feeling? Getting a touch chilly?”

“You wretch…”

“You’re not the only one who can be a bit of a bastard, you know. I do admit, I freely confess, that I have you at a disadvantage since you can’t see and you’re still terribly unwell, but you’re also far more of a bastard than I am and stronger, too, so I’m not feeling overly guilty about things. Reveal the polka dot secret or enjoy those cool breezes across your manly parts from now until… oh, whenever I feel like tossing you some underpants.”

“I… I shall wrap my nether regions in my blanket. I _can_ locate that, regardless of my impaired sight.”

“Shit! You’re right. Oh well, my fiendish plan suffers the fate of all bastardy fiendish plans that are pressed into service without proper forethought. Let’s get you sorted, then. I suspected you’d want to manage the underpants yourself, so I got some that will likely be a little loose so they’re easier to pull up. Here, have a seat and… here you go, I’m holding them just as you’d step into them.”

Interesting. The human did not press a potential advantage. Admittedly, it was not an actual advantage because he certainly did not need his eyes to navigate this room to preserve his lack of modesty but it was something to note.

“I am capable of dressing myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I’ve put my pants on in reverse a time or two and felt a complete twat for it. Admittedly, I was either drunk or hungover for most of those occasions, so there was a degree of justice to it all. Anything?”

“What?”

“I expected you to ask what a hangover was.”

“No.”

“So you can get drunk. Good to know.”

“If you hope to intoxicate me to render me more suggestible for the purposes of information gathering…”

“You’ve got something wrong in your head.”

“Do you mean my eyes?”

“No, I mean your brain. I was actually thinking about sharing a pint or two when you’re feeling a bit better.”

“A pint of what? Poison?”

“Funny. Beer! Ale, lager, porter… whatever you fancy. What _do_ you fancy?”

Mycroft paused in situating his new undergarments and thought a moment.

“JK#%%:LE*^FF!@!sks”

“No idea. How’s it made?”

“Through the fermentation of organic matter.”

“Like beer! Or wine. Or any spirits, I suppose. Distilled?”

“Yes.”

“The hard stuff. Man of good taste. Not that beer isn’t brilliant, but now and again you need something with more of a kick to it. So it might be a glass of a good whisky or scotch we share, then, rather than a pint.”

“Why?”

“Because those are like what you described, so you’ll probably like them better.”

“Why drink with me?”

“Why not?”

“We are enemies.”

“Not that I’ve seen. I admit there does seem some differences of opinion on that score with those more knowledgeable about the whole matter than me, but if they can’t even agree, then who am I to say what I think is loony? So, when we have a chance and you’re off your meds, I’ll get a bottle of something good and we can see how you like it. Until then, here’s your trousers, facing forwards, so get them on and we can finish listening to your Poirot story. Late lunch after? Or, before might be better. You have to be famished by now.”

Ravenous. I would eat _you_ , Grenn, if you were properly roasted and seasoned.

“The mere thought of the offal and gruel I will be offered is revolting.”

“I think the kitchen is doing chicken today, but I can see if they have a bit of offal in the larder for special occasions. In case they don’t, are you alright with meat?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, just checking. A lot aren’t these days and I’m cutting down on it myself. So, a nice plate of chicken and healthy veg… a little something sweet to follow. It’ll probably be something with berries because I saw a few boxes of them being loaded into the kitchen when I popped round for a coffee, so that’s more healthy plants into your system. And sugar and cream, most likely… bit of buttery crust if you’re very lucky. Shit, I really want pie right now. I’ve hexed myself! Given myself a fruit pie curse and it’ll haunt me until I see it satisfied. Want a hearty sliver of pie before lunch for the very rational reason that… pie is good?”

Grenn would not recognize rationality if he tripped over it but…

“I care not.”

“That’s a yes! Ok, get your trousers on and I’ll get our pie. Are you a tea man or a coffee man?”

“What?”

“I’m going to wager that if I’m mostly a coffee man, then you’re mostly a tea man because you delight in being a contrary individual. One slab of pie and tea for you, sir, and one slab of pie and coffee for me. Forks?”

“You assume I eat with my fingers?”

“No, I just have no idea if you use forks. Or know what they are. Like polka dots.”

“It is a utensil for eating.”

“It is! Do you use them where you live?”

“No.”

“Then only a fork for me and a finger bowl for you.”

“You will bring a fork for me, Grenn. We… use something similar.”

“It’s Greg, which you know, but good! Two forks and a suite of whatnot for your tea so you can experiment to find what you like. Back in a moment.”

Mycroft waited until he heard the door to his room… cell… close before engaging in the struggle to get trousers on with a single good hand to his name. Perhaps two more days of this ignominy before he would have both at his disposal. Interesting that the human did not mention his wings. He must know they exist, yet never inquired about their status which was on par with his broken hand. At least that is what the pain indicated. They did not want to extend, either, but that was common with inflammation and injury. However, with both hands operating as they should, as well as his legs, there was much he could do to escape that did not require the use of his wings. Or eyes. Admittedly, the latter was a bit tricky, but he had other senses that would serve in their stead. For now, he would bide his time, but this prison would not hold him much longer. He had others of his people to find, those likely already suffering the fate that lay in store for him, and it was his duty to free them. And there was nobody, not even his servant, he would not destroy to see that duty discharged…


	5. Chapter 5

“Mind if I come in?”

“As if I have a choice.”

Stamford shook his head, but didn’t begrudge the sentiment. It had to be hard to think you had a speck of freedom when you were in this situation, which was why it was imperative to provide to their guest whatever small bits of liberty and choice they could.

“You do. I’m simply here to check you over and I can do that another time, if you prefer.”

“I care not.”

“Then I prefer now, so I can tend to other things that might arise from _this_ particular now.”

“Do as you will. Is Grip not here to grovel at your command?”

“Who?”

“The slave.”

“Slavery’s illegal.”

“The irritating insect you set to plague me.”

“Greg! Oh, no he’s off taking care of a few matters but he’ll be in later.”

“Matters… such as his untimely demise?”

“Well, if he gets hold of a bad piece of fish at lunch, it’s not out of the question, but I’d not hold out hope for it today. So, Mycroft… how are you this morning?”

“Alive.”

“Better than the alternative, I suppose. Let’s focus on specifics, shall we? How’s your hand?”

Mycroft held it up and wished the doctor could see his eyes to emphasize how inane he believed was the question.

“Still attached.”

“You do like your little jokes, don’t you? Well, keeps the mind active, if nothing else. The last scans showed only the worst break holding on like a dev… like a bastard, so I suspect it’s only a day or so more and you’ll have full use of it. Take things easy with it, though, until then so you don’t add time to your recovery. I’m going to take a long look at your eyes tomorrow, so I’ll not put you through the whole rebandaging process right now. Might I ask if… do you know what healing times your people normally experience for eye injuries? Your bones and muscles are coming along per what we have for records, but there’s no information on eyes and…well, it’d be nice to know if you’re on schedule or if there’s something else I should try to get you on it.”

Though his first instinct was to either say nothing or lie, Mycroft found himself worried about potentially concealing information that might impact his sight, which was not something he wanted to do. It was not impossible to be a blind king, but it would make the situation more difficult than he would prefer, especially since having good vision was exceedingly helpful when managing his brother’s nonsense.

“Eyes heal slowly, if at all.”

“Ok… odd as it sounds, that’s good, means that much you have in common with us and helps with my expectations. I know it’s a reach, but do you have any medical knowledge on the subject?”

“I… I have only general terms such as lens, protein, muscles, nerves… 

Stars above, could he sound more stupid?

“… unfortunately, I can do no better.”

Which did not please his ego, however, since his brother was not here to witness his shame, it was far less shame than was possible.

“Few could, though I suspect you’re a highly intelligent man. It’s one of those unfortunate things that without the language, intelligence can’t always shine through.”

“I do know more, that is certain… I simply have no idea of your words for the structures, substances and functions.”

“There we have it. But, even that much is helpful. Knowing the basics are in play is useful knowledge. Do you think… if I brought in some books on human anatomy and physiology, might you be able to find the words you need? Or, at least, know if what’s being described does or doesn’t apply to you?”

“Perhaps. However, I cannot see to read them.”

“I’ve got a few in my office that have an audio version for those with reading disabilities and you can have a listen. Or ask Greg to read out the section on eyes. He can describe the images, too. We do want to see you with your vision restored and I’ll take all the help I can get on that score.”

“I doubt Grip can read.”

“Here now, there’s no cause for that. For your information, he couldn’t have risen to his rank without being able to read and do it well.”

“Rank… military...”

The spy is confirmed.

“No, law enforcement. Formerly, that is.”

“Formerly?”

“Greg’s retired. In fact, he’s meeting with some of his old team today for a bite of lunch. He was a Detective Inspector. With a fine record, too. New Scotland Yard was sad to lose him.”

Law enforcement… that, at least, a king valued, since he was the one who made the laws.

“Retired… then he is elderly.”

“Not particularly, though you wouldn’t know it by his hair. Started young, from what I understand, so… in any case, he can help you with the material and maybe something will leap out at you. Regardless, it’s educational, if nothing else.”

“I care not for your education. I _do_ care about my wings. Why do you not speak of them?”

For a thing called _reasons_ , Mycroft, and not ones that do me much credit.

“Ummmm…”

“Spare me your impending lie.”

“It was a good one, though. Sure you don’t want to hear it?”

“No.”

“Drat. Alright… they got banged up like the rest of you but since you haven’t been using them, I wager they’re healing nicely.”

“Wager? You mean you do not know?”

“The scans have a hard time with them. I don’t know why that’s the case, but they do. Regardless, Greg hasn’t reported that they’re bothering you, so I’ve assumed they’re coming along and the pain medication is managing any discomfort as with the rest of you.”

“Have you done a manual examination?”

“Ummmmm…

The room reverberated with a feral hum that made Stamford’s hair stand on end.

“Dear god, you growl like a professional.”

“I will savage you if you do not answer.”

“You certainly have the teeth for it. Alright, now don’t get excited, but… I gave them a nip of a paralytic that…”

“YOU HAVE PARALYZED ME!”

Stamford leapt sideways as Mycroft lunged forward and contemplated for a ridiculous moment hiding under the bed, but decided a fast explanation might be a wiser course of action.

“Not permanently! It’s temporary and can be reversed if we move you before it naturally wears off. Nothing lasting, I promise. It’s been used on you lot before so I know it’s safe. Unless there’s more damage than I suspect, your wings will be fine in short order.”

“This is intolerable! How dare you, you pathetic human!”

“I dare because I’m your doctor. They’d retracted by the time you were brought here and without knowing how badly they were damaged; I couldn’t risk you accidentally or intentionally releasing them and truly doing them a mischief. Besides, it’s a small room and those are large wings, so the mischief possibility was high, especially if you panicked.”

“I do NOT panic!”

Of course, shouting does not underscore well the point I hoped to make.

“In pain, in an unfamiliar place, blind… let’s say react poorly, then, if you like. My priority is your health and safety and I took a non-damaging route to help secure that, at least for those wings of yours. I would very much like to keep them immobilized for a few days longer, especially since you’ve been having nightmares and I have no idea how…”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes. I guess you don’t remember them, but Greg’s noted that you sleep restlessly, showing the sorts of patterns I see with patients having nightmares. That’s a situation I can envision might bring those wings of yours out and… it’s too risky, in my opinion.”

That was not typical. He did _not_ have nightmares. However, he also did not suffer a bombardment of force that actually caused damage on anything approximating a regular basis. Not since the war that cost him his father and gave him the throne. Did he have nightmares then? He did not know… it was not as if sleep was a friend for any reason in the aftermath of that terrible time…

“How do I know you speak the truth?”

“You don’t. You don’t know me as a person to gauge my honesty or professionally to gauge my competence. However, if you want me to set about getting your wings back in order, so you can do with them as you will, I’ll oblige. But it’s on you what happens when they’re functional, possibly before they’re ready.”

The urge to demand immediate control of his wings was enormous but there was something in Stamford’s tone that gave Mycroft pause. Worry. Not directed inward, but directed outward towards the man standing next to his bed and quivering with anger. An unnecessary worry if there wasn’t a genuine harm looming from a poor decision.

“How long?”

“How long for what?”

“Until the paralytic no longer functions.”

“On its own? Three, possibly four days.”

“You said you were moving me. Another prison?”

“Prison? I know people, myself included, who’d consider it a lovely holiday to have a few days there.”

“Then take my place.”

“Wish I could, but a fellow has to work for a living and I already had a week in Italy a few months ago, so that’s not in the cards, I’m afraid. But, you enjoy it in my place, what say? And, if you’re worried, there will be plenty of space and fresh air to stretch those wings of yours.”

“I… I will be permitted to fly?”

“Yes! As long as those wings work as they should, you’ll be flying in no time. Which is why I’m concerned about you damaging them further. I know you think… well, I don’t _know_ , but I can imagine what you think, what you believe, but beyond making certain you don’t hurt anybody, that’s the extent of our grand schemes. In fact, that’s part of what Greg’s doing today. Saying goodbye to his mates since he’ll be accompanying you on your holiday.”

“What?”

“Well, you won’t be able to see, so you’ll need someone to look after you. And then… well, he’s a bit of company and that’s always nice when you’re in a new place.”

“Grip?”

“ _Greg_. He’s trained and you two already get on well, so…”

“Are you insane?”

“Not to my knowledge, but I know a few in the psychiatric profession I can ask to double check.”

“He cannot have agreed to this.”

“He knew about it when he was assigned to you. I’m afraid you’re not shaking him that easily, Mycroft.”

The insect! Would his agony never end? But… to fly. If the doctor was honest, then he would still be imprisoned, but with enough freedom to fly. That… what to make of that? Would he be on an island? Did they think him limited in flight range? In that, the humans would be sadly mistaken. Regardless, that increased his chances of escape nicely if he was not able to accomplish the task beforehand.

“Pity. He is a loathsome insect.”

“Another reason you’re well-matched! I wager you’re a bit chattier when you’re not feeling off-footed and I know he’s less chatty when _he’s_ not feeling off-footed, so you balance. Well, you’ll have time to get better used to each other and the situation and I have no doubt that you’ll be back to your old selves sooner than later.”

Grik was off-footed… information worth having. A nervous opponent made mistakes, hesitated… all things he could use to his advantage.

“I care not. At least, about Grik.”

“Oh my god, don’t think I don’t know you’re doing that on purpose. When _Greg_ gives you a good thump for it, don’t expect me to give you a headache tablet or ice pack to soothe the pain.”

Stamford wagged his finger, then realized he was wagging it at a blind man and switched tactics to tut tutting as he strode towards the door.

“Greg got the cooks to do you a positively royal breakfast this morning. Don’t be surprised if you’ve something my dog wouldn’t eat for lunch.”

The comment about the dog needing a good lunch what with Stamford surely cleaning the house of food every day died on Mycroft’s lips as the doctor would certainly wonder how he knew about his plumpness. An explanation of basic echolocation was not on the table at the moment for many reasons. However, it would have been a satisfying jibe, if only to pay him back for implying that he, a king, was as off-footed as… was it Grip or Grik? No matter.

“That effectively described my breakfast, actually.”

“Pfft. You and Greg deserve each other. I’ll stop in to see that whatever lunch orders he left are completely ignored. Look forward to a plate of shoe leather and grass clippings.”

Making certain Mycroft heard him chucking as he left, Stamford cataloged his little victories today. Tiny scraps of information were gained, each of which was fairly mundane, but it was all important when they knew so little about the Visitors. And if Mycroft was willing to do a bit of schoolwork about the workings of the eye… that was more useful still. AND he’d survived the wings conversation, which was nice. Not a chat he’d hoped to have right now, but can’t look gift horses in the mouth.

And how nice, also, that he seemed to be finding an effective equilibrium with Greg. His petty little slings… he tossed worse at his mates over a game of darts! Not that the blighter wouldn’t take a hunk out of Greg’s flesh if he got the chance, but it was as start. All good things had to start somewhere. Bad ones, too, but he’d keep a good thought about it all. For now.

__________

“A week?”

Greg smirked and took a long swallow of his very agreeable pint in this very agreeable pub. He wouldn’t be seeing it again for a long time, if ever, so best savor the ambiance now. Actually, once he was swept out the door, the ambiance would probably _improve_ …

“Less, most likely. Sorry, Donovan, but you won’t have ol’ Greg to push about for much longer.”

“You’re no fun to push about in any case. Far too easy. But… so soon?”

“Well, we knew it was coming. It’s what I signed up for! And Mike… Doctor Stamford… says it’s a lovely place. One of those quaint cottages overlooking the ocean. Not the worst way to spend my retirement, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe I do say. So, for how long?”

Greg raised his eyebrows and Donovan frowned at the gentle “Sally” that came from Anderson.

“I mean… a cottage by the sea. You’ll go barmy, Greg. You know you will.”

Cocking an amused eye at her, Greg smiled wearily and nodded.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s exactly what I need right now. Time to… breathe. Think. Nearly all my life I was a copper. Now, my feet are on a different path and what better way to start it than with some peace, quiet and time to do whatever I like.”

“With a Night Devil.”

Donovan pointed at Anderson and pursed her lips in approval. A seaside cottage was one thing, but a savage, winged fiend hellbent on tearing off your limbs for a snack was quite another.

“They call them Visitors now. And he’s not so bad. Pompous, arrogant… but how much of that is natural and how much is him trying to cover that he’s scared and alone and among people he doesn’t know or trust., who’s to say.”

“Fair’s fair… nobody trusts _him_.”

“True, but… he’s more than the raving flesh eater the media would have you believe. You know what they said about you, Anderson, after the Fletcher case! They tell the story that sells best, not necessarily the one that’s true. I mean, Mycroft listens to Poirot, for pity’s sake!”

“Mycroft?”

“That’s what he lets me call him, at least. I can’t pronounce his real name for love nor money. He’s smart, well-spoken, got a sense of humor, surprisingly. Not one to be underestimated, though. Always thinking. I get the sense that everything he does is a move in a chess game that he’s already plotted twenty moves ahead in.”

Greg didn’t seem to be lying, but Donovan had enough practice with her former boss to know that he _could_ sometimes do it without her noticing.

“And this is the creature you’re going off to nowhere with?”

“Absolutely! What an adventure! I get to do something very few have ever done… spend time, real time getting to know one of that lot. Learn about him and where he comes from…”

“You’ll be able to phone, though, right? Email?”

“I’m ashamed to say, Queen Sally, I didn’t ask.”

“Do it, you arse. Your new friend _does_ go all violent savage on you, it’d be nice to be able to call out London’s finest to sort it out, wouldn’t it?”

“Actually, I’ll have the military on hand, so I’d probably give them a shout first.”

“This isn’t a joke, Greg. We’re… we’re worried for you.”

The look shared between her and Anderson said more than her words possibly could and Greg felt his heart clench at the massive pang of sadness hitting him from knowing how greatly he was going to miss these two.

“I know. And I can’t say I’m not worried, too, but I became a policeman to, stupid as it sounds, make a difference. Help people. That’s what I’m doing here, just in a different way. I’m looking forward to it! And you can’t say there wasn’t any danger on the job or I’ll call you a fucking liar, Sally Donovan. This old dog has a new bone to chew and he’s happy with it, thank you very much. You’re just jealous you don’t get to be housemates with a character from a science fiction film.”

“Nobody will care if you can’t phone now and then to tell us about it.”

“I’ll ask as soon as I’m back at the facility! Honestly, it just didn’t cross my mind. I _have_ been a bit busy, you know, what with being a carer for Mycroft, deciding what I’m taking with me, laying in suitable clothes, because it’ll be a bit chilly and windy and I’ve got fuck all for that, really… and a hundred other things! I know we’ll get all the groceries we want and there’s a telly and radio, but if I need a warmer jumper I certainly don’t want some scratchy thing the military thinks is fine for our troops because they’re supposed to be tough, but it gives me a rash. I’ll ask about phoning or emailing or whatnot. Maybe I can tie a message to a pigeon’s leg and let it sniff one of your socks so it can find you and deliver my words of inspiration.”

“You confused carrier pigeons and bloodhounds, you useless former-cop.”

“ _Creative_ useless former-cop, if you please.”

“You’ll need to be creative living with a devil man.”

“Likely so. He’s a crafty bugger. Keep me on my toes, that’s for certain. That’s important when you’re an elderly, retired fellow.”

“Can we… can we visit you?”

Greg sighed and smiled weakly at Anderson who, like Donovan, seemed very hopeful of having some means of contact with a particular old police hound.

“Maybe? Again, I didn’t really ask. Remember, I got the call right when Mycroft was on his way to the facility and have been pretty busy since. I _will_ ask, though. But don’t be surprised if they say no. Cozy seaside cottage or not, it’ll still be a secure military facility and they’re usually not terribly happy about people popping by to say hello.”

Seeing the bleak faces of his former team, Greg wished he could be more encouraging, but when he’d signed up for this job, he knew it would come with sacrifices. The benefits outweighed them, but that didn’t make things any easier.

“Like I said, let me ask and… maybe they have people to step in if I want or need a day away, so I can come and visit London or we can meet somewhere in between. Ok?”

No, it wasn’t ok. This wasn’t how either Donovan or Anderson wanted to say goodbye, with vague hopes for the future, but pushing Greg on the issue wasn’t going to do him or them any good.

“Yeah, Greg, that sounds like a plan. Donovan?”

“Well, it’s a plan. Like most of Greg’s plans, it’ll likely fall to ruin or send one of us to Casualty, but it meets the basic definition of the term ‘plan,’ so it’s what we’ll go with.”

Greg’s rude gesture brought the expected smirks of response, but he recognized how paltry an offering he was making to the people he’d worked with, who’d had his back, for a respectably long time. It was the best he could do, though, for now, so onward with his lovely pint or three and no worrying about the future until it happened. That had been working very well for him since he retired, so why do something silly like change horses in midstream. The horse would probably be peeved and they could act on that peevishness in numerous and entertainingly painful ways…


	6. Chapter 6

Greg hadn’t been certain how to broach the communication issue with Stamford because he, himself, wasn’t particularly in the mood for bad news, but waiting wouldn’t make the news better or worse, so might as well pull off the plaster now and shout about it later.

“Oh, that’s… not as bad as I thought.”

The plaster missed all the pesky hairs and came off cleanly! No shouting today, thank you very much…

“Believed you’d be forever absented from the bosom of humanity?”

“You should be a poet, Doctor Stamford.”

“That’ll be my second career. In any case, it’s not an enormous secret where you’ll be, they just discourage uninvited visitors. Somewhat forcefully. Actually, exceptionally forcefully, but that’s for the tourists and occasional group of young idiots who’ve had too much to drink and think it’d be a lark to go out and cause a bit of trouble. Of course, they find they can’t actually get close enough to do any gawking or trouble-making and when someone wearing a uniform and sporting an impressive firearm appears to politely tell them to sod off that’s rather the icing on the cake.”

“But, people _can_ come and visit?”

“There’s a village a distance away and that’s where visitors usually hang about for the military contingent and for the occasional trip from a person in your position. Remember, though, someone has to be there if you go off for a pint and the military personnel aren’t as, shall we say, sympathetic to our friends as you might be. Though, to the DOD’s credit, they screen those stationed there very well so nobody with anti-Visitor sentiment might creep into the ranks. It’s more they’re all business and can get a touch miffed if… well, you’ve met Mycroft, haven’t you?”

“I think I have, but I could be mistaken. But, I understand what you mean. I had a friend when I was young whose dad was in the army. Nice chap, but certainly didn’t put up with any nonsense from us or anyone. Very good for keeping we ragamuffins in line, tossing out the prats who got drunk and gropey at the pub and I doubt Mycroft would take kindly to having his ears boxed. Truthfully, I suspect I may get one visit by my team, mostly to satisfy themselves that I’m not actually the victim of some government experiment, but beyond that… life moves on, you know?”

“I do, but don’t let distance and being busy keep you from maintaining connections with those in your life. You’ll have your phone and a computer, so reach out often. It’ll be good to have people to talk to, regardless. It’s going to take a bit of sorting out, I suspect, between you and Mycroft to find your footing with each other and having support will be important for you.”

“He won’t have any, though.”

“That’s why it’s important for _you_ to stay grounded and focused. You’re going to be all he has and it’s a disservice to you both to become so isolated that you can’t talk through your thoughts and issues with people you can trust. Look after yourself, Greg. You’ll have access to medical personnel at the military base attached to that area, but don’t forget that health has more than a physical component.”

“I won’t. I made more than a few on my team talk to a counselor when we’d had a truly awful case or when the daily stresses had built up to the point it seemed they were ready to punch something and being a suspect, witness, innocent bystander of the Chief Superintendent wouldn’t matter in the slightest.”

“Then take your own good advice and you should be fine. Now, so you’re aware, I had a chat with Mycroft today and he might have lingering concerns or questions about it.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not bad, actually, just… a lot to take in at once. I mentioned that we’d be moving the both of you soon to somewhere new and he took that fairly well. He’s a little taken aback that you’re both going together, but he didn’t respond overly poorly, so that conversation should go fairly well. I also told him about the situation with his wings and that conversation _did_ go poorly, but not as poorly as I might have expected, so I suspect he credited me with a medical excuse and didn’t completely believe I was lying about him regaining the use of them in a few days.”

“Oh… yeah, that is a lot. He will get to use them, though, right? I remember that being mentioned in the briefing when I took the job.”

“He will, that part is absolutely true, as long as they’re not sporting damage I don’t know about. Before you leave, though, I may have him release them and do what I can for a check. From what I gather, and there’s not a lot of information to gather _from_ , but if his wings were damaged, they probably wouldn’t… go back in correctly and they’d either stay out or they’d be uncomfortable. Not painful, necessarily, which his meds would manage, but not fitting in place properly and he would have noticed by this point. So… I’m optimistic! But, _he_ may not be, so… see if you can put him more at ease, alright?”

“I will. It’s… it’s a harsh situation, regardless, and he may just want to talk about how crap we all are.”

“Which is certainly justified.”

“Absolutely.

__________

That smell… Grol has returned. Lucky me.

“Mind if I pop in?”

“You reek.”

“Ok, but do you mind if I pop in?”

“Why do you reek?”

“I have no idea. What do I reek of?”

“Decay.”

Greg sniffed his armpit and shook his head.

“No, can’t say I do.”

“Fermented remains.”

“Oh! That’s probably the beer. Funny, I never thought of it that way, but you’re actually right.”

“You disgust me.”

“You know the word beer, apparently, so you know it’s not disgusting.”

“I know the word vomit, too.”

“Ok, fine. That is disgusting, _especially_ when you’ve drunk too much beer, but I’m not putting aside a good pint because you wrinkle your nose at it. And I’ve decided that popping in has, in a roundabout way occurred, therefore, I am making it official by coming into your room. Hold your applause until I cross the threshold.”

“The foolishness is beyond measure.”

“Another reason I deserve applause. So, if you don’t drink beer, what do you drink? I know it’s the hard stuff, but can you be more descriptive?”

“Irrelevant.”

Highly relevant, because Mike told me you had the relocation conversation so you know we’ll be sharing a house and if I’m penning a supplies list, I need to know what to jot down for your bit of evening relaxation.”

“I care not.”

“Fine. Beer it is! The really cheap crap, too, which smells just as fermented as the good sort, but tastes much, much worse.”

“You dare not.”

“I dare yes! Or, give me an alternative. Wine, whisky, vodka, rum, gin, tequila… no, not that because tequila vomit transcends beer vomit in disgustingness… maybe we should have a booze tasting session to fathom out what you like out of all that. And the government would pay. I think we have a plan. Which, oddly, is fully on track with the rest of my day.”

“Drunken degenerate.”

“Not drunk, thank you very much. The degenerate part I won’t dispute too loudly since I have more than a few things on my record to substantiate that claim. So, what is it? What’s your libation of choice?”

“SK&dtf*lv.”

“Glorious. You know I have zero idea what you just said. Probably something rude.”

Actually, yes.

“Begone.”

“Nope, because I heard _you_ heard about your wings and… I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“No.”

“That sounded like a yes no.”

“Nonsensical blather.”

“Non-nonsensical blather, thank you very much yet again. Here, let me drag my stinky self closer and we can have a nice chat. Need anything first?”

“Your demise.”

“I’ll see if the kitchen has any demise in the cupboard. Won’t be mine, unfortunately, but they do stock quality products here, so I’m sure it’ll be acceptable.”

“Leave.”

“Sharing can be hard, I know, so I’ll start if you like. Today, I had to say goodbye to people who are important to me and I can’t say it was a fun thing to do. We’ve been through a lot together and when I retired… that was difficult. Now, I’m not even going to be close at hand for the occasional spot of lunch or few pints at the pub. So, that’s my bit of woe and worry for the day. Let’s hear yours.”

“That you will never be silent.”

“That’s a good one, no question about it. Or bad one, since we’re talking about worries. But, let’s talk about your wings. Doctor Stamford said the wing chat went well, but you may still have questions or concerns. I’m happy to listen.”

“I care not.”

“It’s strange… you have a lot of intelligence in that head of yours, but don’t like to show it. You could easily put together long sentences with loads of big words and metaphors and the like, but just stick to short and simple. Very, very strange. If _I_ was that smart, I’d show it all the time. I suppose you’re more humble than me.”

You are baiting me, insect. It shall not work.

“It’s alright, though. It’s not as if it’s particularly bad that people think you’re a bit… not clever. That they wonder if you know more than words a puppy could fathom. That’s a small baby dog if you weren’t sure. Like with polka dots. Though some puppies do have polka dots on them. They’re called dalmatians, but that still doesn’t mean they know very many words. Or long ones. Or ones that smart people use.”

“How dare you!”

“Wings!”

“THEY ARE USELESS! What… what else would you have me say?

Mycroft’s scowl was dark, angry and dangerous, but Greg saw more in there that made his somewhat soft heart ache for the man in the bed. Something rendered useless through accident or disease was one thing but this had been an intentional thing and there was no sugarcoating the fact.

“That they’re useless. That it infuriates you. That it’s not fair. That you were violated. That you already didn’t trust any of us and now you _really_ don’t trust any of us. How does that sound for a start?”

Mycroft’s snarl grew darker and even more menacing, but Greg couldn’t fault him for it in the slightest. He knew the rationale for paralyzing Mycroft’s potentially-damaged wings and it had merit. Genuine medical merit. He didn’t need to be a doctor to understand that. But, he _also_ knew it was standard procedure when they brought in one of this lot, whether they suspected wing damage or not. Those like Mycroft were dangerous without use of their wings, but _with_ them…

It didn’t change the fact that it was a shit thing to do. though.

“You have a right to feel like that, Mycroft. You do. Nobody thinks differently. It’s partly why, I think, that you get moved out of here to somewhere… better. Somewhere you can use your wings and not worry about smacking them into the walls. it doesn’t undo the fact that you’re wearing a proverbial straitjacket at the moment, but that’s changing soon. Only a few days more then, you’ll be able to spread your wings and… well, I don’t know how well you can fly without seeing where you’re going, but I wager you won’t mind much as long as you can get into the air. Or, at minimum, just sit outside with your wings out enjoying the sunshine. Would that make you fall over, though? It seems they’d just spill you backwards, arse over elbows.”

“Troglodyte.”

“We have a winner! One properly non-puppy word to prove that brain is still passing muster.”

The human was a pestiferous creature. However… he did have a single, valid point to his credit…

“My mind _is_ remarkable for both its intellect and my ability to utilize it.”

“Always humble. That’s what I like about you, Mycroft. Your unsurpassable humility.”

“Fool.”

“I love those! My mum used to make them in the summer when the berries were ripe and… oh, me and my dad could eat our weight in them.”

“You… eat people? With berries?”

“If I had to eat a person, berries wouldn’t be the worst accompaniment, I suppose, but I’m talking about the delicious thing with a sweet custard and lovely berries all mashed up and swirled about in it. Or just plopped on bottom and top when we were braying like horses because we didn’t want to wait for mum to do us a proper one.”

“Pity. For an instant, you appeared… interesting.”

“That’s better than my usual, so thanks! Now, how about a cup of that tea that you didn’t spit out when you tried it?”

Mycroft growled softly, but… it was a surprisingly acceptable beverage.

“I care not.”

“Meaning you’d love a nice cuppa and maybe a few biscuits, as well.

As swiftly as you can deliver it. Biscuits seemed one area where humans had not failed abjectly in their culinary endeavor.

“Revolting.”

“I’ll bring them anyway, just in case you need something to throw at me when you’re bored.”

No, little insect. That will not be what I throw at you when the time comes. And it comes soon, I suspect.

“Given you never stop yammering, it will be easy to achieve successful aim.”

“I try to be helpful.”

__________

“Tea!”

Joy.

“And biscuits!”

Actual joy.

“And I got our schoolwork from Doctor Stamford, so we can start on that when you have a mind for it. It’s still fairly early, but I know you’ve had a trying day, so we can put off making a start until tomorrow.”

“The books.”

“And audio versions for some. He bookmarked the relevant chapters, so I can put you on them directly without you having to wade through a billion pages of medical jargon. Of course, maybe you like that sort of thing and want to go wading, so have at it! Whatever works best for you.”

Yes, wading was certainly of interest to him. The more information gained about the humans the better. However… the proximal issue of his sight was far more pressing. Tend to that first. Then…

“Will I have access to these once I am moved to my new cell?”

“Oh, I don’t know, actually. If not these, though loads of others. It doesn’t sound like we’ll be cut off from the world, so you could look things up online or… I don’t know if they’ll see us sorted for online libraries but maybe the people who bring the groceries can bring actual books for you to browse through. Doctor Stamford is hopeful you can provide us with insights into your people so they can be serviced better in the future.”

“When you capture and imprison us.”

“No. Well, the capture bit is technically true, but when you hop onto our world and start causing mischief, it’s to be expected, isn’t it?”

“We do not hop anywhere. You open portals that ensnare my people.”

“No, that’s not what happens.”

‘Lie.”

“Not a lie. Ok, I’ll be completely honest and say that’s not what any of the news reports nor do any of the documents and things I had to read to get this job. Could the government be lying to its citizens? It wouldn’t be the first time, that’s for certain. But… I’ve seen the people who are working with your people and they regret it. That came out wrong. They regret that they have to do the work, because your people keep showing up, nobody knows why and they can’t be sent back. We don’t open the portals, Mycroft. We don’t know how. Scientists are trying to fathom it out, but they haven’t yet.”

“Lies.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s a huge lie to dupe the public, but… I think if the government scientists could open up portals, they’d have some idea when and where they’d open and wouldn’t let people get hurt… or killed… when one of you lot swoops down in a foul mood about being brought here. They wouldn’t have to scramble the military or take any of the measures they do to make you comfortable like we’re about to enjoy. We’re not doing this, Mycroft, but we do have to live with the consequences so… there you have it.”

“I do not believe you.”

“That’s ok, you don’t have to. But, it seems to me you’re saying your side doesn’t open the portals, either, and I’m prepared to believe you.”

“That is because I do not…”

Saying he did not lie was likely the grandest, most enormous lie he could actually utter. Well done!

“… lie.”

“Yeah, you do. All the bloody time. But, that’s ok, because I can tell.”

“Ridiculous.”

“So you’re admitting you lie, you just don’t think I know when you are?”

Damn.

‘I admit no such thing.”

“See? Right there, that’s a lie. Or, maybe it’s better said that it’s true you’re not admitting it, but you’re still a lying liar who lies. A lot.”

“I tire of your incessant prattle.”

“Getting a bit sleepy, are you? Let’s get you ready for bed, then, what say? It’s a bit early, but you can start listening to your medical books or something else of interest while you relax.”

“Given listening to another sound source precludes listening to you, I agree.”

“You’re such a flatterer. Anyway, I’ll see you cleaned and in fresh pyjamas before settling you in for the night.”

“I can tend to myself.”

“Ok, again, I’m prepared to believe you but I’d like to see you do all that once without my help, just so I’m clear as to how much tending to you can manage right now.”

“I am not a child.”

“So, your people have kids.”

“That… how can that possibly surprise you.”

“Because I know fuck all about your people, that’s how. You could all be clones or something. Well, not clones because I have seen photos of others of you and you’re not identical in appearance, but you could do something with that bioengineering to create new beings and avoid all the reproduction and growing up nonsense.”

Bioengineering… the meaning was simple to decipher and how interesting the human knew of such a thing.

“That is not our way of things.”

“See! Learning every day. Which I’m thrilled to do and not because you think I’m an evil government spy. And I don’t want to treat you like a child, I just don’t want to see you struggle for something when you don’t have to or, worse, have a slip and hurt yourself.”

Did the foolish insect believe him that weak? Good. Let him think a mere fall could cause damage. It would make learning otherwise a far more… enlightening… experience.

“Will you leave me blessedly alone if I permit this?”

“I will leave you blessedly alone, cursedly alone or just simply alone. Unless you need something before you nod off, that is.”

The caveat king once again brandishes his sword.

“Begin, then, and make haste.”

“No, not going to hurry because that’s not how to do things properly, but I _will_ promise not to dawdle.”

Mycroft couldn’t see Greg smile, but he felt it, nonetheless. And it burned…

“See you do not.”

On Greg’s part, he wondered if this was how things were going to go on. Like an old married couple, with one crotchety and a bit rude, and the other… not that. Oh god, he was his Grandad. And Mycroft was his Gran. Tetchy old woman who more than one of his mates thought was a witch. But those two old people loved each other madly and it broke his Grandad’s heart into a thousand pieces when she died. Not that he’d find love with this one here, but the dynamics were the same and that… that was a model he understood and could work with. Actually, it was the model he had been working with, though without realizing it, so stick a jaunty feather in his cap and carry on.

“I won’t. Got my own things to do tonight and they won’t get done if I drag my feet with you.”

“Things? I thought you were my slave?”

“Funny man. For your information, I’ve got my own book I want to read. Or, I might watch a video that I’ve been hoping to see. The whole evening is mine and I am happy to get to it as soon as possible.”

Chew on that, you arrogant bastard.

“Then you, again, lied. You stated you would provide assistance for me before I slept, if it was required.”

“Yeah, and my room is directly next to this one, with both a light and chime if you sound your ‘I need help’ button. I’m not across the compound or something, but you know that and just want to be evil and nettlesome. Isn’t that a brilliant word? I heard it the other day and have been dying to use it.”

“My tea has grown cold.”

“That’s my fault! Going on and on, pointing out your evil and I shamed my mum who would consider that the worst offense a host could perpetrate on his guest. One fresh cup coming up and… are your biscuits too stale to eat or do you want me to get fresh ones, evil man?”

“Your species lacks any and all forms of humor.”

“Got it. You’ll eat those while I get both fresh tea and biscuits.”

Yes.

“You are nonsensical.”

“Then you’d best hope I bring tea and biscuits, not chicken juice and a bit of tree bark.”

“How does one extract juice from a bird? Are you referring to blood?”

“You sounded interested. Like a bit of blood, do you?”

At times.

“Not from a filthy fowl.”

“The cross your fingers and toes and hope you don’t get a cup of that. I’m nonsensical, you know, so it’s all chaos and shades of weird with me.”

Greg made certain Mycroft could hear him leaving the room and grinned widely as he closed the door behind him. Yes, he understood these patterns and could work with them. And, soon, he and Mycroft would be in a more… normal… situation, without the hospital and military elements clouding everything they did. They would be an old couple, living in a little seaside cottage with their telly and radio, arguing about what to have for dinner and what species of bird it was that just crapped on their sea-watching bench. Maybe he should bring a pair of binoculars for the trip. He’d never done any birdwatching, but now was as good a time as any to begin a new hobby…


	7. Chapter 7

Greg had to admit that when Mycroft put his mind to something, he saw it done. He intently listened to the medical books in his possession, at least the sections dealing with the eye, and he’d carefully used his fingers to examine the physical model of an eye that Stamford had provided. After being berated for writing too slowly to take notes, Greg had a voice recorder brought in and showed Mycroft how to use it, so he could dictate his own notes in both English and his own language, which Greg still found ear-splitting, but was getting used to gradually.

And he also had to admit that Mycroft mastered their forms of technology easily enough. True, the forms of technology he’d actually had the chance to manipulate were fairly simple, but it took only one demonstration and that was that. That boded well for whatever computer they’d have. Someone as smart and curious as Mycroft would likely go loony if he couldn’t have mental stimulation and, although the Internet was a ridiculous place, at times, it should serve the purpose of letting him learn whatever he might wish to learn.

“Grimp!”

Like this patient human’s name.

“Try Greg and see what happens.”

“Why? Is that a command of which I am unaware?”

‘You are a villainous bastard and I hope your toes fall off.”

“As they were not injured in my battle, I find that highly unlikely for any reason.”

“Then get on with your request and maybe you’ll get that and the joy of keeping your toes, as well.”

“I am dehydrated.”

“Congratulations.”

“Remedy the situation.”

“Can I ask a cultural question?”

“How is that related to my water-depleted state?”

“It might get you something to undeplete you.”

“Ask your question.”

“Are your people allergic to the word ‘please?’ “

A king does not say please, insect.

“I am not inclined to beg you for your contracted service.”

“My contract is actually with the government, not you, so a please isn’t really violating any employment agreement.”

“Neglecting your prisoner, however, likely _is_ a violation.”

“You do love your little fantasies, don’t you? You’re lucky, though, since I could murder something cold and wet right now and it wouldn’t be too much of a burden to carry back two cold wet things instead of one.”

“With sugar.”

“Oh, so you _did_ like that fizzy soda I brought yesterday. The one you said tasted like effluent.”

“Human water is revolting.”

“That makes no sense and you know it.”

Yes, but you are a villain for raising the point.

“Begone, Grimp, and do not return if not with my beverage.”

“You’re not a king, you know.”

I beg to differ.

“I am parched to discomfort.”

“Ok, that’s a reason I can support, though a please would still be nice to hear.”

“So would my hearing ptkk&lznh#u^, but I am not issuing complaint.”

“Foreign language isn’t secret code, you know.”

“In this situation, I assure you, it is.”

“Fine, but only because I haven’t learned your language. Yet.”

“Pfft. Indulge your delusions if you must, but obtain my beverage. Now.”

“How do you say beverage in your language?”

“Stry*n&dldx#.”

“Ok, maybe it’ll take me a week or two longer than I predicted but, Greg Lestrade doesn’t give up!”

“You seem to have given up on my beverage quite successfully.”

“Bastard. But, you have a point. Back in a tick.”

And if you return with something other than the brown, sweet beverage with bubbles, I shall be most displeased, something that will not be to your benefit once your back is turned…

__________

Stamford scanned through the information Mycroft had readied with some help from Greg and was extremely pleased by what he saw.

“This is very helpful, Mycroft. Really, this information is very much the sort I hoped we’d get.”

And fast. A little over a day and a tidy report is prepared that would make any medical student green with envy.

“You will heal my eyes, then?”

“I’m more confident now than I was, that’s for certain. It seems my original course of treatment wasn’t far off the mark and… I’ll run all of this past an ophthalmologist I know with the proper clearances and I suspect she and I can do a bit of refining to make your chances of recovery highly favorable.”

“When will the bandages be removed?”

“Time, Mycroft. Give it time. If you were a human I’d say that, too, so don’t worry it’s a bad sign. My biggest concern is… truthfully, there are several, but you did catch a rather nasty bit of debris in those eyes of yours. We extracted it cleanly and, if what you tell me about the malleability of your cornea is correct, then there shouldn’t be much in the way of scarring to impair your vision. That being said, the more disturbance the tissue receives, the less likely a clean repair will occur even if the other issues sort themselves out. I know it’s frustrating and having to rely on Greg for so much is hard for someone as independent as yourself, but… don’t rush things, Mycroft. It’s a temporary inconvenience and I know you have the fortitude to manage it easily enough.”

Of course I can manage, human. I simply do not wish to, that is all. However, sight _is_ going to be necessary for my objectives…

“Very well. But if I suspect you are unnecessarily extending the timeline, I will not take lightly the insult.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s a betrayal of trust between doctor and patient and that isn’t something _to_ take lightly.”

“I do _not_ trust you.”

“I never would have guessed! Regardless, I take my responsibilities seriously and will hold up my end of the bargain. Now, ready for some more good news?”

“Oh, did I miss the first portion altogether?”

“Funny. And yes, you completely missed my highly-applauded comedy routine for the nurses at the morning meeting, more’s the pity. Killer stuff. That’s very good news in case my medical career dies a sad and tragic death. In any case, and I’ve already told Greg… tomorrow is moving day.”

“P…pardon?”

“Tomorrow you will no longer be my headache. In a sense.”

Part of Mycroft whooped with joy but another part was raising a question-asking finger because access to medical care, even low-quality such as this, was still an issue of importance.

“But… my eyes.”

“Which is why I’m accompanying you and Greg, at least for a day or so to brief the local medical team on your condition and coordinate with the doctor on site about my future evil plans. I know how… housebound… you’re feeling, Mycroft. Besides your eyes, however, the rest of you is ready to get out for a bit of fresh air and a walk around, so there’s no good to be found keeping you here when you can be cared for equally well in your new surroundings.”

Walk around… reaffirming that he would not be confined to a cell. Was the island notion still a possibility? It would be a wonderfully convenient notion… simply fly off and leave Grass to rant and rail against being so easily bested. By the time they mobilized the military, he would be long gone, seeking the others they had so cruelly imprisoned.

“I suppose that will suffice.”

“Thank you. I know you don’t have much in the way of belongings, but you can take with you what you’d like of what you _do_ have and there will be extra clothes and personal care supplies provided. It’s going to be a touch chilly where you are, so you should be properly sorted, but if it’s not enough or insufficient, Greg will simply put in a request for new. There is a budget, but it’s not a miserly one, so if you have a need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“My freedom.”

“You can be part of my comedy act! With your wit, we’ll be the talk of the town. Rest, Mycroft. Rest and heal. The other things you can worry about later.”

Stamford knew better than to give a comforting pat on the shoulder, but mentally provided one, if only to comfort himself. If he was in this position, he’d be using every moment to plan an escape so he couldn’t fault Mycroft for being angry and indifferent to any glad tidings he might bring. But, once Greg and Mycroft were settled in, they’d have time, and a more conducive environment, for conversation. Talk about these issues and start the path to making this a good situation for them both. Nobody was stupid enough to think it was going to be easy though…

“Now, Greg is getting the last details of his own life sorted and took a couple of hours off to ensure he was fully prepared to leave. He’ll be here just after that, though, so… talk to him, Mycroft. Let him help you get ready and _talk_ to him. You may not wish to believe it, but he _is_ your ally here and a person who genuinely wants to help you in any way he can. He’ll also have a lot of say when you’re in your new home and, by that, I mean he outranks a lot of the military and other sorts that have jurisdiction over your bit of property. It’s his duty to see you’re properly cared for and treated well and has the authority to make that happen. Don’t underestimate how much he can do for you and _wants_ to do for you… take advantage of it.”

I _will_ take advantage of him, human. Of his weakness, of his imbecility, of his gullibility, of his eagerness to please… I will capitalize on each and every of his flaws and see myself out of your clutches as soon as I am able.

“Might I now be rid of you? I tire of this.”

“Of course, Your Highness…”

That, at least, is appropriate.

“… Give a ring of your buzzer if you need anything before Greg returns.”

“Grebb would bring me sweet drink and biscuits at this hour. You may do that in his stead.”

“The biscuits part I got, but can you narrow down ‘sweet drinks’ for me? There are a lot of them out there to enjoy.”

“The brown drink with bubbles.”

“Oh! Got it. Is sweeter food and drink the norm for your people?”

“Why?”

“Just curious. We do have some information on your dietary requirements, but there’s no reason seeing your properly nourished can’t mean seeing you happy with your diet, too.”

Hmmmmm… should he provide information or restrict what the humans know? Information is power, but this information did not seem rife with potential for crafting an invasion strategy. However, it _could_ be useful in manipulating future individuals taken prisoner, an offense that would continue if he could not free the existing prisoners and devise his own strategy for countering the humans’ aggression. How much manipulation could there be, though, from satisfying or failing to satisfy a taste for sweet? It was a meager manipulation, at best. And, if it brought him more fizzy, sweet drinks and biscuits…

“Not particularly. They are considered… excesses. Not necessary for survival, though they are more palatable than other possible options.”

“Like us, then! Treats to enjoy now and again, but overindulgence is frowned upon. I suffer a lot of frowning in my life, I’m afraid, but… life’s short! Why not have a bit of cake when you can? Or an extra nibble of a fruit pie when it’s summer and the fruit is ripe and especially luscious. I like sweet treats, if you were unaware.”

Stamford suffered another bit of frowning in his life but since Mycroft always frowned, it wasn’t a particularly potent strike.

“Best let Greg know you’ve got a sweet tooth, yourself, so he can see your larder appropriately stocked. He’s more a… salt and grease sort of fellow, I think. Have an extra packet of crisps, rather than save room for a nice chocolate bar when he’s enjoying a bite of lunch.”

“His internals are likely riddled with lipid-loving parasites and the very thought amuses me greatly.”

“I’ll deworm him before I leave you two alone to fight over your grocery order. For now, though, I’ll get you a nibble to enjoy while you contemplate that cozy mental image.”

Mycroft growled and showed his teeth which Stamford had to admit were fearsome examples even when the showing was a bit halfhearted. What they could do if put to real use didn’t bear considering. He’d seen evidence of the damage in records and… better remind Greg that his self-defense button wasn’t license to be careless if he wanted to keep his flesh attached to his bones…

__________

“We’re moving!”

Oh good. Grape was here.

“I care not.”

“Yeah, you do. You’re positively itching to get out of here and suck in all that fresh air.”

“The air undoubtedly will be fetid.”

“It will not.”

“You will be there, rendering the fetidness unquestionable.”

“Hah hah hah. In any case, I’ve got my things packed and loaded for transport and now it’s your turn.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“I have nothing.”

“Wrong. You have your clothes and your music and radio and audiobooks. You didn’t have anything with you when you came through the portal but the clothes on your back and… there’s really nothing salvageable from them, but I… I did save a bit of cloth from, I suppose you’d call it a tunic, and that can come with us. A little something that’s actually yours and not something that’s yours because we gave it to you.”

A scrap of cloth. That was what he was reduced to in his accursed, irredeemable world.

“I care not.”

“Your face tells a different tale. I’ll tuck it in with the rest of your things and… well, we’ll add new when we get to our cottage. I know you’ll mock me for asking, but do you do any… handicrafts? Work with materials to make things yourself? Not even practical things, necessarily, but artistic things, too? We can get the materials for that, or the best we can muster for equivalents, and it’d be a simple matter to see you with what you need. If that’s something you enjoy, that is. Maybe you can sew and can make clothes more like what you’re used to wearing when you’re at home. Probably warmer versions, though.”

“Are you attempting humor?”

“No. And when I humor, it’s not an attempt. It’s a success.”

“Begone, Grape.”

“That’s a fruit and you know it. Ok, maybe this is another polka dot issue. I suppose I have to give benefit of the doubt for the fruit business, but you know that’s not my name so you’re still a twat. Now, we don’t have to see your things bundled this very instant, so how about this. You finished your latest Poirot story last night, so what about starting something new? I may, just may, have sneaked in a treat or two to celebrate our last night here that would go very well with a cracking bit of Agatha Christie.”

“Why is any of that celebration worthy?”

“ _Anything_ is celebration worthy if you want treats.”

Damn. The argument was irrefutable.

“I care not.”

“Pfft. I think you do care because I popped into a bakery and got a nice assortment of rich and creamy tidbits and, since the off license was only a few steps along, a bottle of something I think you’ll like since it’s as sweet as the other treats. Can your people get drunk?”

Outlandishly.

“We are not self-debasers.”

“Ok, then. I’ll be the only one debased from the rather nice port with the perfect amount of sweetness to bring out the deep, rich flavor.”

Oh, look at you screwing up your face and trying not to screw up your face at the same time. Maybe, one day, you’ll stop being so fucking contrary, but it won’t be today. And that’s fine. We’ll have plenty days together for the mask to start slipping.

“I… I care not.”

“I’ll get us set up for our celebration, then, and if you want a glass, only to be able to tell me with confidence how shit it is, you can let me know.”

“A not-imbecilic suggestion. I am astonished.”

“And its only early days yet! Just wait until I bring out my top material. You’ll… what’s greater than astonished?”

“Stupefied, perhaps.”

“You’ll be stupefied! Don’t worry, though. I won’t hold it against you.”

Mycroft growled a long, basso profundo growl that reverberated in Greg’s chest, a far less unpleasant experience than he might _otherwise_ experience if he was hearing the sound while out strolling in the darkest reaches of the jungle, as opposed to having a little sit in a comfortable, if plain, room in a well-lit government facility.

“You have such a lovely voice. Lucky thing I’m bringing my guitar! I’ll teach you some of our songs to sing along with my playing. That’ll keep the evenings lively.”

“Feel free to poison tonight’s beverage, Grape.”

“My glass or yours?”

“I care utterly, utterly not.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Final checks!”

Mycroft considered whipping the speaker for his music player at the part of Greg’s face that made noise then remembered the speaker had already been packed away and wasn’t within reach to accomplish the whipping. More’s the pity.

“They’re ready for us and all our things have been stowed away. It’s not a short drive, not by any means, but I’ve got us set up comfortably enough. It’s a shame you won’t be able to view the scenery, because it should be a lovely drive, all things considered, but we’re going to the loveliest bit of all and you’ll be able to see it as much as you like once your bandages are removed. I’ll describe what’s out there, though, as we drive along, so don’t worry about missing everything completely.”

Perhaps the bed was no longer bolted to the floor… it would make a wonderful whipped weapon.

“I prefer to travel in silence.”

“Nah, nobody prefers that. You have to have music on the radio or play a game. I’ve got us covered for all of that and it’ll only be you and me in the rear of the van, so we can get as silly and stupid as we like. There’s an old man’s chair for you, too, so…”

“What?”

“One of those plush chairs that tilts back so old gents can have a nap in the afternoon without the bother of getting into bed. Stamford suspected you’d have a hard time sitting upright the entire ride, since you’re still getting your energy back, so you can relax and enjoy the trip.”

Even if the bed _was_ bolted to the floor, he just might have regained enough strength to pry it loose and beat Grub to death with it. What a joy that would be.

“Greg? Are we ready?”

Stamford. Two candidates for a death beating. Truly an embarrassment of riches.

“I think so. Just need to get Mycroft into shoes and we should be set. What’s the weather looking?”

“Surprisingly good. Spot of rain tomorrow, perhaps, but it’ll be a nice excuse for the two of you to stay in and start exploring your electronic freedom.”

“Yes! Hear that, Mycroft? A solid telly and Internet day for us! Or, truth be told, a good rainy day is a solid day for reading, too. We’ve got a world of options at our feet. Speaking of feet, let’s get yours into some shoes and into motion towards the van. Mycroft… what’s going on with your feet?”

Which were now sporting talons on each toe that could likely rip a man open with an offhand bit of foot-tapping to a snappy tune.

“Pardon?”

Stamford shook his head and tried to remember if the records made note of Visitors being quite so dramatic or if this was peculiar to the one in his care. However, this ridiculous posturing confirmed that the paralytic in Mycroft’s system had almost run its course and if he wasn’t wings spread by tomorrow at the latest, this old doctor would be greatly surprised.

“I think our friend here is saying he’d be more comfortable without shoes, Greg. Or that he’s got a taste for amateur dramatics.”

Greg pursed his lips and reminded himself to check the cottage for a medical kit. Mycroft gives his leg a kick under the kitchen table during some bout of daftness and that leg may not remain attached to his body.

“Then no shoes it is! I prefer that myself when I’m at home, so it’s good to know I’ll be living with someone who shares my stand on foot freedom. I would ask, though, Mycroft. How well can you walk with those swords sticking out from your toes?”

Poorly.

“Extremely capably, however, I would rather not have a quaking lackey at my side while I walk, I shall act to still your escalating fear.”

The talons vanished, more slowly than Mycroft would have liked, but the dramatic effect was forestalling him feeling put out that there were still drugs in his system. Not, it seemed, for long, though.

“Very agreeable of you. Now, let’s be on our way, shall we?”

Standing close enough to provide support if needed, Greg waited for Mycroft to rise from the edge of the bed, steady himself a little, then nod for the procession to begin. It was not the regal procession due him by right, however, it would do for the moment. And, most importantly, it was leading him away from here. And towards something far more suited to his purposes…

__________

“I will kill you.”

“Come on! Just one more song. You’ll like this one, I promise.”

“I have disliked every other you have tortured your instrument to excrete. Why would this be different?”

“Because it’s Pink Floyd.”

“A meaningless statement.”

“Just you wait. You’ll love it.”

“If I do not?”

“Then… I’ll play another because you’ll be lying. Stop showing me your pointy feet, you bastard! Ooh, your hands got pointy, too. Looks like you want the long version of this tune, then. Excellent.”

“Poison. I want poison.”

“Here, have a Coke, instead.”

“That will do.”

__________

“I am bored.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’re just mad because that little girl at the petrol station wasn’t scared of you.”

“She was obviously dull-witted.”

“She obviously was not, because she correctly noted that if you killed and ate her, as you threatened to do, you’d have to do it fast before the police got you and that meant, most likely, eating her Alice band which, being plastic, might block up your intestines and make you explode.”

“That is an impossible occurrence.”

“You didn’t eat her, though, did you?”

“My heavily-armed escort to the toilet rather made that an unappealing option.”

“Along with her blockage-forming Alice band.”

__________

“Finally! You amuse me.”

“We hit a bump and I smacked my head against the window!”

“Is that what happened? I merely heard your squawk of pain and found it hilarious.”

“Oh… fine. For that, here’s _Wonderwall_.”

“Whatever is that?”

“You’ll find out.”

__________

“I think… ooh, if that’s ours, I am a very happy man.”

“We have arrived?”

Greg stared at the approaching cottage overlooking vast stretches of uninterrupted seaside terrain and grinned broadly. Beautiful. The cottage, even from here, looked perfectly sized for two and who could argue this view! And, best of all, no holiday makers and caravans and the like to spoil even a speck of it. He would never have been able to afford a place like this on his salary, or pension for that matter, but now he could enjoy everything it offered. Isolated, uncorrupted and perfect. Just absolutely, positively, perfect.

“I think we have. And I really hope that chimney means a functioning fireplace because… it has to. I simply has to. You can’t have a place like this without one. It’s not done. The universe would collapse or something if anybody tried.”

None of that meant anything to Mycroft but what did was that they hadn’t boarded a boat for any portion of the trip, potentially scuttling his notion of an island prison. Though… they had driven for years on end and some of that might have been on a bridge of some form. That would hasten military response when he took to the air, but it would mandate they arrive mostly from a single direction, barring nearby ships. Which would likely number one or none. Humans did not seem terribly tactical in their thinking and could easily underestimate the cunning and ability of their foes.

Though when the motorcade finally came to a stop and he was helped out of the van he couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable scent of being near a large body of saltwater. If not an island, then, something on a shoreline. That was nearly as good for his purposes.

“I know you can’t see this, Mycroft, but it’s gorgeous. We’ve got a fabulous cottage on a truly amazing stretch of the coastline. Down a bit it gets rocky, but there’s a good sandy area at the bottom here and we’ve got a proper little trail to walk down to reach it. Oh… it’s amazing. You’re going to love it. I already do!”

“Your tax dollars at work, Greg.”

Stamford had been keeping watch on the conversation in case… well, this was their home now and if something was amiss it would need to get sorted soon.

“I’m glad I didn’t cheat on them, then! I’m not sure what I expected, since I had an idea of where we would be, but I certainly didn’t expect this.”

“It’s new construction, but solid work and I can’t say they didn’t keep aesthetics in mind when they designed the place. Modern conveniences and, yes, before you ask, the fireplace _is_ functional and checked for safety yesterday. As you can tell, it can get rather chilly and a nice fire in the evening is just the thing for it. Mycroft, first impressions?”

That it shall be a simple escape once my sight is restored.

“It is intolerably cold and the stench in the air is nauseating.”

“That’ll be Greg’s cologne, I suspect. A handy dip in the ocean should work a treat for making him smell like a… well, I was going to say a rose, but I’ll change to bit of seaweed, instead. It is going to be on the cold side for you as a rule, so let’s get you indoors and you can change into something warmer. You won’t find a shortage of that here. Same with bedding. And the fire isn’t the only heat source, so you’ll have the ability to make your bedroom as toasty as you like and fight Greg over the temperature in the common areas of the house.”

“A fight I shall win.”

“Greg’s got his tricks, I wager, so don’t get too confident. My uncle was a copper and what they could get up to for revenge pranks doesn’t bear repeating.”

Greg nodded sagely, not that Mycroft could see it, but he had perpetrated some of the most heinous, and hilarious, revenge pranks in the history of the police service when he was a PC. There was photographic evidence, too, so the skeptical could glory in his various crimes.

“Let’s take a look inside then I’ll make my way to my own not-so-cozy abode at the military base to check in there. I’ll be back tomorrow to see how things are going and relay any news. You’ve got your mobile, Greg, and the signal should be good here but there’s also a direct phone line to the base. And, I believe, a shortwave, in case a storm makes other communication dodgy. Come on, the happy couple steps first over the threshold.”

Greg resisted the extremely strong urge to give Mycroft a little shove into the house when they opened the door because… well, for many reasons, but an irritated Mycroft, a _genuinely_ irritated Mycroft, was not the way he wanted to start this new situation. Especially in this lovely little cottage that his new friend could probably rip to shreds if he had a mind for it. Which would be a terrible shame since it was… perfect.

“Well, Greg, what do you think?”

“It’s out of one of those novels about some goings on in an isolated cottage in the remotest part of the country and the valiant, careworn detective is sent out to investigate. Or to recover from being overcome with disillusionment at the human condition. Either way, it’s magical.”

“I think they were going for the writer takes himself away from society to focus on his latest novel sort of aesthetic. With or without the recent and terrible personal loss that was haunting his mind and dreams.”

“That works! It’s amazing, Doctor Stamford, it really is. All the basics, it seems… let me check the loo first before I commit to that, though… yes! Full indoor plumbing and… oh. I suppose I should be narrating this for Mycroft’s benefit. Here, Mycroft, we have a small but well-provided bath with toilet and shower and nice window for looking out onto the world while nature runs its course. And… here’s one bedroom with what a bedroom needs to meet the definition. Second… yes, second bedroom, the same size, I think as the first, just a mirror image. Nice windows for both and let me peek… clothes at the ready. Now, back in this main area it’s a large, sort of, sitting room and kitchen off to the side. Good book-reading chairs by the fire, cozy little table for eating… can’t ask for more, really. Oh! Firewood?”

Stamford smiled and made a mental wager that Greg would have a fire going within an hour of him leaving the two new residents alone.

“Quite a bit of it, actually. When it gets low, just add that to your supply order and the Army lads will deliver it.”

“This is… you know when you have a small, fleeting thought now and again about what your life will be like when you retire? Realistically, I thought I’d remain in London and keep on there, but there was a tiny part of me that hoped for some solicitor to phone and say I’d been left a picturesque cottage somewhere with more sheep than people and loads of peace and quiet. Looks like my tiny part knew better than the rest of me.”

It was a strange feeling, but Greg had an emotional lump in his throat and it was taking some work to keep it hidden in his voice. It really _was_ a tiny dream that had stayed with him through work, a divorce, good times and bad and, now, here it was, laid out in front of him. Even with his unique housemate, it was a small reward, a bit of grace, handed to him that he’d never expected to receive, all things considered. But he _would_ certainly accept it and graciously, at that.

“I’m happy for you, Greg, I truly am. And you, as well, Mycroft. This is a place… I suspect you’ll come to appreciate it, though you may be feeling a touch sour about it all now. Anyway, let’s get your things in and then I’ll be off.

“Sounds good. Mycroft, want to have a seat while I get this sorted or start exploring?”

“I am not a child.”

“I have no idea which option that supports, so I’ll leave you to it.”

For a blind person, Mycroft seemed to have a very good sense of space and position, so Greg felt certain he’d master moving around their new house in very short order. He’d just have to pay attention when they were outdoors, because it would be easy to do yourself a mischief with a misstep. The last thing Mycroft needed right now was any mischief…

__________

“I care not.”

“Ok, then I’ll leave the bedrooms as is based on what size clothes are in the closets. That puts you on the right and me on the left. Doesn’t matter much, since both have spectacular views and are basically identical. And, as promised, there’s a telly and computer here for us, but I’ll put your music system in your bedroom so you can listen when you’d like. I sleep very soundly, too, so don’t worry about disturbing me, though I’ll let you know if it gets a bit loud to sleep.”

Greg continued on for awhile speaking, but Mycroft paid him little attention. The house was rudimentary, but acceptable for the short time he would inhabit it. Stamford had been correct about the cold, it was dreadful, but the extra garments he’d added were working to stave off the chill and his servant had increased the temperature of the dwelling, so that should also assist with the problem. There was one area left to examine, though…

“Out of doors. I wish to investigate.”

“Take a stroll outside? Good idea! Once your eyes are back on the job you’ll see how utterly breathtaking it is, but you can still get a sense of it, I suspect, with a walk. I _am_ going to recommend shoes, though. There’s rocks, one, and it’ll also be cold with the wind. Who wants cold toes? Nobody! Thick socks and good, solid walking shoes are what’s needed and how convenient that you’ve got that in your bedroom waiting for you. I’ll get them and a scarf, too. Maybe a hat, though I wonder if it will chafe your ears. We can always try, I suppose.”

Dolt. But… extra garments would be a welcome thing. The sound of the wind was bitter indeed…

__________

“Ok, we’re sort of in a low area right here and it rises quite a bit on the left and somewhat less on the right, but you get proper cliffs either way. Looks like there’s a good number of birds about, so it’s fortunate I brought my binoculars and a book to help identify things. We’ve got a nice trail someone made down to the water and we can explore that later. For now, it’s fairly easy terrain to navigate up here, so let’s start with that. If I ask you to hold my arm, are you going to be testy about it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll have to talk all the time so you can follow the sound of my voice. Is that better?”

“No.”

“Then just hold my arm like this and we can walk but choose to talk or not.”

Given the wind and the waves, following the sound of your breathing or footsteps is not an option but I can simply navigate via the reflected pulses off of your form, lowly human. You, however, do not need to know that.

“If I must, though it pains me to lay hands on your weak and paltry form.”

“Paltry… my mum would be so proud.”

Greg dipped his arm as if it was nodding at his words and started walking in the direction he was facing. You could walk and wander a good ways before any problems arose, if you weren’t blind which made problems arise much faster, but it would be nice to stroll along with only his thoughts for company, when he wished, or with actual company, if that was more to his liking. Mycroft certainly wasn’t the clingy sort, so having time to himself was not going to be an issue. And that was good. Sometimes you only wanted one person to be in your notice and that person was you. Mycroft would surely want a little of that, too, so… this was going to work out nicely.

“I love the sea here. I’ve been to a few places on holiday where they had beaches and… the sea was so kind and calm. Just small, gentle waves coming on shore. No muss, no fuss. And not too much for wind, either. There’s always some, of course, but not wind that’s hell bent on letting you know it’s come for tea! This is a proper sea, with proper waves and wind. Rocks, too. I like sandy beaches, don’t get me wrong, I adore them, but there’s something about clambering over rocks that’s…”

“Proper?”

“Exactly! Do you have beaches in your world?”

We do and… they are very much like what you describe here, save for the temperature. Beautiful beaches, with the sunlight showing on the rocks, reflecting colors that swirled from the attention of the crashing waves. He had moved several official rooms in his palace so that he could always look out and watch the water. It was a tremendous balm for his soul when the drudgery of politics was eating away at its edges. It would do no harm to confirm their existence.

“Yes.”

“What are they like?”

“Extensive, in places.”

“And?”

“Why?”

“Why not? You can’t see this one, but you will soon enough. I’ll never get to see any of yours, so the only way I know what they look like is if you tell me.”

“Or you accompany the invasion force.”

“First, there’s no invasion force. Trust me, if our side knew how to operate the portals, there likely would have been by now, stupid buggers. But, as importantly, they’ve got younger backs for that than mine, so I highly doubt I’ll receive a notice saying to report for duty anytime soon.”

“Ah yes…. I had forgotten your elderly feebleness.”

“Wrong. There’s no elderly anything with me. Got my own hair, my own teeth, all my sexy bits function and my prostate doesn’t wake me at night to complain about life. I’m… mature.”

“Old.”

“Nope. Mature. Like a fine wine or cheese. But, you want something less refined and nuanced when you’re sending bodies off to war, so I’ll be passed over for any combat duty. Not that we’re invading, mind you, because we’re not. Don’t know how.”

“Lies.”

“Believe what you will.”

“I shall. In any case, would not your law enforcement training position you for some use to the military?”

“Ummmm… maybe? I honestly don’t know. They have their own people for that sort of thing and we didn’t cross paths with them often, but they seem a competent lot.”

“Or, perhaps, you are not.”

“I beg to differ. Got my share of recognition for doing good work.”

“Catching shoe thieves?”

“Funny. Or not, because I did do that once when I was a police sergeant. In any case, my area was serious crimes. Homicides, often, but not exclusively. Some very high-stakes robberies, embezzlements, that sort of thing. Retired with a very admirable record, if I do say so myself. And lots of others would say that, too, so don’t be evil.”

Homicides… interesting. The human might not be so naïve about violent ends and the means to achieve them as he had anticipated.

“Then why were you dismissed?”

“Retired, not dismissed. And that was evil, in case you weren’t aware…”

But, you’re asking actual questions and talking a bit, so that’s progress!

“… but to answer your question, it was time. There were several reasons, but they all converged on it being time to leave the work for other hands. I started young, so I’d more years on the job than some of my team had been alive! You’ve only got one life and… it was time to try something new before I wasn’t able to enjoy it fully. So, here I am! Still doing good work, but of a different sort. Meeting new people, taking on new challenges. One named Mycroft. And getting to live here. In this beautiful place where I can… live. Do the things I want to do, the things I didn’t have much time for when I was on the job. Read, watch films, practice my stupid guitar, learn new things, take up new hobbies… it’s all at my fingertips.”

“Hmmmmm… you assume you shall have freedom with your soldiers looking over your shoulder.”

“If they _were_ doing that, it’d be a poor assumption, I admit, but they’re not. The program’s not set up that way. They’re off doing their normal business and we’re just a… side thing.”

“What?”

“A side thing. They handle our supply needs and will send out medical personnel if we have a problem, but that’s about it, really. They’ve got other things to bother with besides us, so we’ll be left fairly well alone.”

Interesting. Could the military truly be so disinterested in his situation? It seemed unlikely. However proximally disinterested did not mean distally disinterested. Long-range surveillance, perhaps? Remote monitoring? Surely they had missiles with sufficient range to level their hovel to dust... or a body from the air. However, what was their response time? If he disabled the human from notifying them of his escape, how long would he have until other means detected his flight? He would need to gather what information he could before acting. Fortunately, Grom was never sparse with his prattle.

“Lax.”

“You want soldiers up your arse all day? I certainly don’t. Not that they aren’t good chaps, but I’m retired! The most I want to manage are the birds I’m trying to identify and the lads filling the larder. Maybe a trip now and again to what passes for the local pub. I’ll have to ask Stamford how far it is to the village. I don’t mind a good walk, but there’s a difference between a good walk and a death march.”

Yes, Grom… obtain that intelligence. It would be most useful.

“I can request a vehicle, but I don’t know if it’s necessary. Hate to take something that could be more useful to someone else. Maybe I can get one a day here or there if I want to go further than my feet prefer.”

“And me?”

“Oh. I… I don’t know. I’ll have ask, but if it’s allowed, I’ll happily take you to see the sights, what of them there might be.”

Another possible avenue of escape. Excellent… 

“I care not.”

“Sure. But, back to your beaches… what are they like?”

The insect never ceases to dig for information. However, there was nothing particularly sensitive or consequential about scenery.

“They are colorful, to put it weakly. The minerals in the stones and sand are both reflective and highly colorful. There is a chatoyant quality, also, so the position of the sun reveals different colors at various times of day. It is particularly striking when a storm rages and the lightning produces not only flashes of color in the sky, but flashes of color along the shore as the light is reflected with a particular and intense brilliance that is…mesmerizing.”

“That’s… that sounds incredible! Like something I could stare at for hours on end and never get bored.”

Unquestionably. Many is the day where I simply sit and gaze at the scene, letting it wash away, for a time, the burdens that haunt me like a vengeful ghost.

“Given you are of limited intellect, I am not surprised.”

“I have no doubt, no doubt at all, you do it when you have the chance.”

“Incorrect.”

“Very correct. You might be blind right now, but I’m not. I’ve seen you listening to music and how you can lose yourself in it all. Someone who can be transfixed by one type of beauty can certainly be transfixed by another. So, I call you out as a liar, sir! Take that!”

“Take what? And to where?”

“Nope. You know what I mean and no playing like you don’t. You’ve outed yourself, Mycroft, as a smart person, even if you have a few odd language gaps, so no playing dumb with me or it’ll go hard for you.”

“I have no idea what you implied besides the obvious fact that I am more intelligent than you.”

“I didn’t imply that and you know it. Ooh, you’d better watch yourself, evil person, because it’s not the nice people in the canteen preparing your meals now, it’s me. And I could easily forget how to cook when it comes to getting your portion ready.”

That was actually a potent threat. He had no idea how to prepare the foods of this world. To be fair, he had little idea how to prepare _any_ foodstuffs as he had always had meals prepared and provided by those paid to perform the task.

“You assume I cannot cook.”

“I do assume, yes.”

“You are mistaken.”

“Tell me something you know how to cook?”

“I… I shall not be baited into further conversation on this nonsensical matter.”

“Air. You can cook air.”

“As I noted – nonsensical.”

“I’ll teach you. It’s not hard, unless you want to do something fancy, which I don’t bother with since a lot of the supposed high-class stuff I’ve tried doesn’t taste appreciably better than working-class food. There just more sauces and fancier plates.”

“I have no interest in sullying my hands with such an activity.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s knowledge! You like knowledge and this is very practical knowledge, too. Something you can use. Say I do a nice chop for myself and you think ‘ooh, I don’t want a chop,’ you don’t have to have one. You can do something else and everybody’s happy.”

“You will prepare what I desire.”

“Nope. Or, yep. Depends on how much of an arse you’ve been and if it’s something I want, too, in which case it’s as easy to do two portions as one. We’re housemates, I’m not your manservant. We can do a schedule for things like that. The days I cook and the days you do. That sounds fun, actually. We can plan the grocery list based on our individual ideas and have a nice time getting it ready with one of us being the cook and the other being the… quality control supervisor. And wine pourer-outer.”

“What?”

“Wine pourer-outer! If you’re the quality-control supervisor, you’re also in charge of keeping the cook’s wine glass filled. It’s the law.”

“That is a lie.”

“A tiny one. It’s a great idea, though, even you, _you_ , have to admit.”

“I…”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“I was going to say I have little idea of the quality of human wine beyond it is certainly disgusting and palate rotting.”

“You can test that tonight because I asked Stamford to have a couple of bottles laid in to relax with after our long drive.”

“You consume a drunkard’s amount of alcohol.”

“I… ok, you have a small point. I do drink a bit more than I did in the past but I’m retired! No worry about getting called in to work when I’ve had a few or worrying about waking up early with alcohol still in my system, let alone going in to work with a hangover. I can actually drink a bit and enjoy it properly. But, of course, if you don’t want any wine…”

Mycroft’s indifferent snort made Greg grin and mentally punch the air in victory. Not only for the wine triumph, but because they’d talked! It wasn’t just him going on and on with Mycroft giving only terse answers. Yes, there were still lots of those, but it seemed that being somewhere new, with the ability to have a walk in the fresh air and a place to live other than what was effectively a hospital room cum prison cell. It was a small step, but a step in the right direction, even a small one, was a victory in his ledger. It was a lesson hard learned on the job, but one that still had relevance. Savor every victory, no matter how small, because too many days they’ll be outnumbered by defeats. And, right now, he was very happy to forget about defeats for awhile…


	9. Chapter 9

Greg lay in bed and relished the sound of wind and waves in his ears. What a life! Imagine, waking to this sound every day. And going to bed with it every night. That had been a brilliant thing last night, actually. He’d made a nice bit of pork and veg for dinner, giving Mycroft wine duty which he actually performed with only the smallest amount of complaining… and help… then they’d enjoyed another couple of glasses while listening to a radio play that Mycroft said was puerile, though he kept shushing the comments this old copper made during the performance.

Then it was getting Mycroft situated with the shower and into fresh pyjamas with his music player control in his hands so he could listen to a little music before falling asleep. Maybe he knew it or maybe he didn’t, but Mycroft seemed to fall asleep faster when there was a bit of something lovely in his ear. Maybe it was a stress thing, which was understandable. Fortunately, finding classical music for free or cheap was easy to do and, today, he’d show Mycroft how to use the radio to find things he liked.

Stretching and scratching, as most every of his days began, Greg got out of bed and tossed on a pair of track pants and t-shirt, little more being needed with the temperature in the cottage. He’d start nosing it down and reaching a compromise with Mycroft, but one night with a balmy atmosphere to help his new friend ease into this new chapter of life wasn’t the end of the world. Especially since neither of them was paying the fuel costs.

It was a shame, though a miniscule one, that there wasn’t a door to the loo inside the bedrooms, so opening the bedroom door to dart around the corner would be the new morning routine. This morning, though, he paused and took in the scene in front of him. Which was the Mycroft standing in the door of the cottage, appearing to be both listening to and sniffing the wind. He’d gotten himself dressed, sans shoes, and was tapping the frame of the door with fingers that had talons equally impressive as the ones on his feet, which weren’t extended, at the moment. Tapping. He was doing it to hear the tapping, most probably, since it seemed to be oddly in time with the rhythm of the waves.

It was a nice opportunity to study Mycroft, though, in some environment other than a sterile hospital room. He seemed larger than a standard human, but he wasn’t really. Tall, but not oddly tall, long limbs… those might be a bit longer than standard, but it was hard to say. Could be the leanness, which was not the same as for a gangly teen, but the sort that suggested what he’d seen for programs about monkeys. Muscle and lots of it. Lean muscle that he didn’t doubt Mycroft had perfect command of at any moment in time. Maybe it was the color, that vibrant, sultry red and black hair that had grown a bit since he was first brought to the facility, faster than a human’s would grow, so it was a bit shaggy and wild. He wasn’t necessarily that much bigger than a human, but he seemed _more_ than a human and that was… whatever it was.

“Ever the spy, Grilk.”

“No, just finishing my yawning and stretching before taking a turn in the loo. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept.”

“Can’t ask for more than that! How’s the weather feel?”

“Cooler than yesterday, but is earlier now than when we arrived, so I cannot make a direct comparison.”

“Sense any rain?”

“How would I do that?”

“You can and you know it.”

True, but I doubt you do. Fishing for information…

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“Too bad you can’t be more specific, since I was thinking of taking us down to the water for another explore, but I’d rather not get caught in one of those storms that comes up when you’re not expecting it. They’re murder on the coast, which is where we are, and I don’t have a taste for murder today.”

I will not be swayed by your nonsense, insect. Today is far too… it is a travesty that the human world should boast a morning with such energy, but it cannot be helped, so enjoyment was the next appropriate course of action.

“I care not.”

“Bet you care about breakfast, though.”

“I have eaten.”

“What! I don’t believe that.”

“I care not.”

“Let me see…”

Greg stalked the few steps to the kitchen and turned his Detective Inspector’s eyes on the space. Loaf of bread… shorter than it was last night. By a good margin. The toaster hadn’t been moved and there wasn’t a pan in sight, so it wasn’t likely the bread had been toasted or fried. Butter check… more than one partial stab at the butter, so bread had been buttered after the end had been found. Jam? No, nor the honey. So bread and butter so far. Oh you bastard…

“You made a sandwich with the extra pork I cooked last night to save for our lunch!”

“It was adequate.”

“It was amazing, you mean. Next time wait, though, so I can show you other things to put on the bread besides butter.”

“Why?”

“That’s not the worst question in the world, I have to admit, but you might like something a touch different. Won’t know until you try. Good job fending for yourself, though you left us lunchless. Did you make tea?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll get the kettle on. Want me to show you how to use the toaster, so you don’t have to eat cold bread if you wake up earlier than me tomorrow morning?”

“I would hope you would not, again, be so sluggardly.”

“I’m not sluggardly. What time is… oh. Ok, I’m a bit sluggardly, but hurray me! I can actually have a lie in now that you can forage in the bread and keep yourself from wasting away. I remember eggs in the refrigerator and sausages, so with some toast that will do nicely for me and…”

“I shall have that, as well.”

“You said you ate. And I have evidence you weren’t lying!”

“I now desire eggs and sausages.”

“You can’t have room for all of that.”

“I have had pitifully little to eat while incarcerated and, now that the incarceration scenario has altered, I would myself fed to satisfaction.”

“Oh. Is that true? I mean actually true and not you being a bastard true? Because nobody wanted to not give you enough to eat, Mycroft. You never asked for more, though, except treats and the like, but…”

Gronk was utterly pathetic when he was… pathetic. And would likely continue to sink _further_ into pathos if some placation was not bestowed.

“I was not familiar with your foods and did not wish to overburden my body with materials it may not fully process. However, I have not found anything indigestible, to date, so I expect to be presented with sufficient food to properly maintain my health and level of activity.”

“Ok… ok, that makes sense, I suppose. Actually, it makes a lot of sense, given your amount of muscle and… you can fly! That must require loads of energy! I really am thick. Or someone was thick, because the cooks gave what was ordered for you and that was overseen, to a large degree, by the medical staff. I’ll tell Stamford, though, because he’d surely want to know that your lot needs more food than what’s been put on the plate.”

“They likely hoped to keep me docile through hunger.”

“Nobody in their right mind, having met you once, would think anything could keep you docile.”

The insect scores a valid point.

“Perhaps, but the intellect of my jailors is not of the highest order.”

“Wrong. But, if you haven’t been getting the food you need, then I’ll choose to believe that some of your evil and bastardness is due to being hungry all the time, because I get cranky when I’m hungry, so it only stands to reason, but now that your plate is going to be heaped, I expect a bit more sunshine coming out of you.”

“I am neither a celestial body nor a luminous object, so your expectations are wildly misplaced.”

“Sunshine. Scads of it. And I’ll make sausages and eggs as sunshine fuel for you, too.”

“With toast.”

“Naturally.”

“And the sweet spread you put on toast.”

“Jam. We’ve got jam.

“Then I _may_ find your offering acceptable.”

__________

Stamford nodded slowly, hearing Greg’s report, but was heartened by the fact that Greg was still alive to give the report, after a night alone with Mycroft, so nothing short of apocalyptic news was going to dampen his spirits.

“Hmmmm… that’s interesting, but it doesn’t surprise me. There are a number of notes concerning Visitors not wanting to eat anything because they feared we were going to poison them. Eventually they fathom out that’s not going to happen, but they’re still wary. The kitchen prepares things quite a bit richer than they normally might to sneak in extra calories, but don’t make portions overly large unless they’re asked because… well, if our guest eats it all and asks for more, then fine. But if they send back things nearly untouched, then it’s just a waste and everyone has a budget to mind. It seems to work itself out once they’re in their new home, so I suspect we don’t have to worry. He’s eaten well today, correct?”

Greg nodded and looked out the window again at Mycroft, who was sitting outside on a small bench, listening to a new book on his mp3 player. He’d easily consumed a large plate of second breakfast and demanded another slab of bread, butter and jam before going outside to begin his book.

“Yeah. He seems a great deal more relaxed here in a lot of ways. I won’t say he feels safe, but living in an actual house where he can move about at will and being able to go outdoors has made a world of difference.”

“It would for anyone! Has he tried to use his wings yet?”

“No. His fingers grew claws, though.”

“Ah yes. Aren’t they just the thing for making you wonder if your guts are going to stay on your inside rather than visit your outside?”

“I won’t say I’m not happy that his eyes aren’t working right now so my guts aren’t in imminent danger, but I sort of am. Until he’s a little more happy about things, that is.”

“That’s what your emergency measures are for, but let’s hope you don’t have to use them again.”

“Ultimately, I’m thinking I won’t. It’s only been a day, less than a day, really, but there’s a definite shift towards something more… collegial. It should make a lot of things easier if we continue in this direction.”

“Keeping a good thought…that’s the spirit! Well, I’ve got the team here sorted with Mycroft’s medical information and treatment plan, as it stands, that is. I’ll modify it after I chat with my ophthalmologist friend this evening.”

“Seeing it’s just you and me here… do you think he’ll have his sight back?”

“I do. Even if he was human, I’d predict a respectable recovery. Perhaps 75%, which the brain, in its ‘none of your nonsense, eyes’ sort of fashion, would work around to push that up another several percent before we even looked at corrective measures like spectacles. Given their healing abilities, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes through better than that. Maybe as if nothing happened at all. I don’t want to raise his hopes, though, until I get a real expert’s opinion because nothing is worse than dashed hopes, so I’ll err on the side of caution for now. Tomorrow I should have better news, though. At least, more complete news, which is just as important.”

“Good. Really, that’s good to hear. He’s managing surprisingly well without his sight, but I know he’s very ready to see it returned. I had the telly on for a bit last night and, though he tried to hide it, Mycroft was interested in seeing what he was hearing. Admittedly, it was a film where humans were getting slaughtered by space aliens, but I can’t fault him for that because I was sort of cheering on the aliens myself. The humans were such arrogant twats it was hard not to enjoy seeing them vaporized.”

“I can see why his interest was piqued. Alright, then, let me go out and say my goodbyes. The medical staff here are top notch, but you can always phone me with questions, Greg. Or if you need to vent your spleen a bit about our mutual friend.”

“I will. Thanks, Doctor Stamford.”

“You’re most welcome. Now… girding the loins…”

Stamford made a grand show of adjusting the waistband of his trousers and marched outside towards Mycroft, leaving Greg to grin and decide not to follow after. Let them have a private goodbye while he gathered the clothes and towels and such for his very first basket of laundry in his new home. The machine tucked away in a convenient cupboard was small, meaning frequent laundry duty, but that was alright. Once Mycroft had eyes working, he’d be sharing in the household duties and… ok, that was a truly funny thought. Probably be their first real argument as housemates – dividing the jobs and there was little doubt Mycroft’s argument would be that he got none and his human servant had them all because of some very important and ridiculous reason.

Which, to be fair, was similar to the argument he’d had with many flatmates when he was younger. Life coming full circle, same problems when he was a punk kid as when he was and old duffer. Could be worse. He could have the problem of coming home and finding his flatmate shagging in his bed after drinking all his private supply of good beer. Unless Mycroft had a seagull kink, the likelihood of naughty goings on in this situation was standing squarely at nil…

__________

“Tomorrow? That is unacceptable.”

“I’m sorry, Mycroft, but I’m not speaking with Joyce until this evening and then I actually have plans, so tomorrow is when you’ll hear from me about your eyes. What we _can_ talk about today is… how are you getting on here? I know it’s only been one day, but what’s your sense of things?”

“It is soul-scathing.”

“Not a drop of venom in that, so I’d say you approve! It’s a wondrous sight, this place.”

“Feel free to remain in my stead.”

“Some of us have to work for a living, unfortunately, and I didn’t train as a fisherman. Now, don’t be shy about putting in requests for things you need. Or want to try! Once you’ve had time to learn about our world, you might find something that interests you to occupy your time. A nice hobby, perhaps. Start a garden, take up something artistic… whatever you like.”

“Are you attempting a joke?”

“Possibly. Or possibly giving you some ideas to make things more interesting for you. You decide. Tomorrow, I can give you a better idea of which recreational pursuits are possible and alert the supply people at the base to expect an enormous order for gardening tools, knitting needles, yarn and model trains. Until then, have you tried extending your wings yet?”

“No.”

“Want to give it a go to see what you can do for that? At the least, I can give you a firmer estimate on when you’ll be able to use them again.”

In truth, Mycroft had been avoiding checking his wings because, if something was wrong, he wanted to put off until the last possible moment learning about it. But, other extendable and retractable parts were back to normal, so…”

“Very well. I would not, however, stand in that particular location as I will be most cross if a collision with your bulk damages me in any manner.”

“In that case… Greg! Come out here and witness Mycroft’s potential humiliation when nothing pops out his back but teeny budgie wings.”

It took three seconds for Greg to drop his laundry basket and dart outside to watch the command performance.

“Reporting for duty, sir! Mycroft, do our side proud by not being a budgie.”

“Budgie?”

“I’ll add that to polka dots. Let’s see the wings, Mycroft. Go slow, though, ok? Make sure they’re ready for a proper showing.”

Mycroft scowled at Greg’s words because he was growing very weary of being told to show caution for simple things but, as for his eyes, this was an area he could not afford to inadvertently exacerbate if a problem did exist. Slowly, focusing keenly on each and every sensation as he let his wings stretch, he only snarled slightly at what he knew would be the cheery smile of both observers when he gave them a little shake at full extension.

“Not a budgie! Greg, we have proof our friend fully lacks the genes of a small avian creature, though he’s got the color to do them proud. Anyway, Mycroft… how do they feel?”

“I detected no issues of note.”

Besides some areas of stiffness and a slightly slower-than-normal response at full extension.

“Good! If you’ll allow it, I’d like to do an examination to check that things are in order that maybe you aren’t noticing now, but might cause problems when you’re airborne. Is that alright?”

No. However…

“What form of examination?”

“Just a feel here and there. I might ask you to move a wing this way or that. Nothing invasive. I have a little information on what I should find if all is up to standard, general anatomical things, and that’s all I’m checking for.”

“Proceed.”

While Greg ogled the large wings that were bat-like in appearance, with heavy black membrane stretched between what had to be very lightweight skeletal support if they weren’t dragging Mycroft backwards, Stamford did a quick manual examination, focusing on joints and flexibility, having Mycroft flex and rotate his wings slowly a time or two before stepping back and clapping his hands together to signal the end of the process.

“Tiny bit of inflammation in the distal joint of your left wing. If I remember the photos, that wing took some terrible hits and was the one that first hit the rocks when you finally fell. I’m glad, now, it had some protracted time to simply heal on its own. I’ll give you an anti-inflammatory to take and… I wager it’ll be fine by morning.”

That was encouraging. He did not need the human to diagnose this minor matter, but the medication available here was successful in accomplishing its aims, so whatever pill or potion was given, he would take and see his wings fully restored to function. Tomorrow, it seemed would be a significant day for more than a single reason.

“Your opinion is noted.”

“Good. Greg, he’s all yours, for better or worse.”

“I’ll choose better, all things considered. Safe ride, Doctor Stamford.”

“Begone.”

“Lovely goodbyes, both of you. I’ll drop a few pills of something useful on the table on my way out. Could be anti-inflammatories. Could be tranquilizers. Could be hallucinogens. Who knows? Life’s about surprises, right?”

Mycroft growled softly at the inanity then growled louder in warning as he sensed Greg moving forward towards his wings.

“I’m not going to touch them! I wouldn’t do that unless I asked first and you said I could. So, can I?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Just a little poke. I want to feel what the soft bits are like.”

“No.”

“You can poke me after, if you want.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To square things! I poke you and you poke me back. Everything’s balanced.”

“I have no desire to… poke you.”

“That’s alright. We’ll pretend you did after I poke you and it’ll still be equal score for each team.”

He could murder the lowly human. Easily, too. However, doing so before the status of his eyes was confirmed might be shortsighted. If the ultimate prognosis was poor, he would need a servant to collect the necessary information he required to concoct an alternate strategy for locating and freeing his people. As Grist was already present and _somewhat_ capable it was inefficient to end his life at this present time. No matter how rewarding would be the experience.

“You may have one… poke.”

“Thanks!”

Greg pressed his finger into the sturdy, black flesh and kept it there, wiggling it a little to maximize his poking time.

“It’s got some fight to it, doesn’t it?”

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s not flimsy. Some wings are. Insect wings, for example. Admittedly, they only have to lift tiny insect bodies, but these are still robust buggers. Can they lift me?”

“They lift my weight, which is greater than yours, so you perform the appropriate calculations.”

“I mean me in addition to you?”

“Why would there be a need, ever, to do that?”

“When you give me a ride!”

“Preposterous.”

“Preposterous because they’re too flimsy for giving me a ride?”

“Preposterous because I would not stoop to carrying you.”

“You can just hold my hands and let me dangle. That would be fun, actually.”

“Leave.”

“You’re overcome by how fun that would be and need a moment to savor the glee. I get it, I understand. I’ll get the laundry started, then practice my dangling pose. It’ll be dramatic, too, which will just add to the fun.”

Mycroft hissed and almost retracted his wings to demonstrate their opinion of Greg’s suggestion, but opted against it because it was glorious to have them out, feeling the wind and misty air. Much like they would do when he was home, standing on a balcony or… oh, when he went to the highest tower, his own private sanctum, and took the final steps to stand on the observation platform, the very highest, most exposed spot anywhere on the structure. From there he could look out over the water or towards the mountains, their stark beauty and unwavering solidity ever a source of focus when his mind was troubled.

Much as it was now. How _could_ he find his way back to his home? Locating their people was one matter, but his brother’s attempt at maintaining a portal was a dismal failure and now what options presented themselves? Likely their discussions about closing this first portal intentionally and reopening at a set time later would be remembered and… would his notoriously unreliable brother remember these discussions and follow through, seeing it the only possible way of returning them home? Or, knowing him well, his brother was likely infuriated by the failure of his device and throwing every waking moment towards proving it was _not_ a failure. That the portal closing was merely a minor technical issue that was easily remedied. And, in the process, forgetting that they had a set interval of time between each intentional opening to schedule a trip through.

Gurk indicated the machine, the computer, could access large quantities of information and rapidly, as well. That was certainly a resource to utilize fully. Obviously, it would not be as useful or effective as their own technologies, but it seemed the best humans could offer, so it would be the place to begin. Perhaps, even, today. The human was the eager sort, so making the request to be shown its use would be met, undoubtedly, with childlike enthusiasm. Whether it could be operated with someone lacking sight, of course, was a question. But not one he needed to pursue this very instant. This very instant was far better spent enjoying this fine morning and what the humans’ nature had to offer…


	10. Chapter 10

If this wasn’t cozy, Greg didn’t know what was and fuck anyone who tried to tell him. Crackling fire, bit of cheese with his wine, a favorite film on the telly and Mycroft periodically swearing in his own language at the computer. It had to be swearing, too, because it had that sound. All swearing sounded the same, regardless of language, though Mycroft’s particular tongue gave it a special punch, even when hissed softly at a monitor. Before the coziness began, he’d sat with Mycroft and worked through what was the Internet, how to use a keyboard and how the screen reader software worked. Then, after sitting through a few page visits to work out any problems, he’d left his housemate alone to learn how deep the cesspool of humanity truly was, which would please the Visitor to no end.

“Groo!”

“Groo’s not here, would you like to speak with Greg instead?”

“Who is Greg?”

“Arsehole. What do you need, Mycroft?”

“The sweet brown liquid.”

“The cold or hot sweet brown liquid?”

“Cold.”

“Cold, it is.”

“And a pie.”

“What?”

“Are you unfamiliar with pies?”

“You know I’m not, but… we had dinner already.”

“It was not pie.”

“No, it was pasta, which you tried to claim was fit only for the rubbish, but cleaned your plate twice. _With_ extra bread.”

“I desire a cold sweet brown liquid and a pie.”

“We don’t have a pie sitting about and I’m certainly not going to make one at this time of night.”

“Your laziness is appalling.”

“Tomorrow, we can make a pie. Notice who plural I was there? You can learn exactly how much fucking work goes into make a pie, any kind of pie, and appreciate it more when you have a piece.”

“Bring to me a chicken, then.”

“Where am I supposed to get a chicken? Raid some poor farmer’s henhouse?”

“In the icebox.”

“Ok… there is chicken in the refrigerator, but it’s raw.”

“There is a rather obvious method of bringing about change in that situation.”

“I am not roasting a chicken for you when I already did pasta. The chicken is for tomorrow. Besides, by the time I’d cook it, it’d be even later than now and not even you, I wager, could eat a whole cooked chicken and be in fit shape to go to bed after.”

“I intend on remaining awake for some time and will certainly grow hungry after you have taken to bed to indulge your sloth.”

“Having that much fun on the Internet are you?”

“It is a repulsive cavalcade of the grotesques and empty-headed of your species.”

“Ummmmm…. fair point. But, is there any useful or interesting information among the twisted wretches of humanity?”

Some. More, actually, than he had first imagined. The technology was crude, which limited its utility, but it was sufficient for a preliminary gathering of basic facts about the humans, their capabilities and weaknesses. The quantity of cat and dog content was somewhat puzzling, but there was little use in attempting to fathom the dysfunctions of human intelligence.

“There are some basic facts of marginal interest.”

“Good! If you’re going to up for a bit, I can set out some things for you to nibble.”

“They will not be hot.”

“Uh… no.”

“Given the frigid temperature in this house, I demand hot food.”

“You just asked for a cold Coke!”

“Cock is a beverage, it is not food.”

“It’s Coke and you know that and you know what cock means so… oh, look at that little smile. Feeling funny, are we?”

“I am. You have not the talent for it so I am ensuring this abode is richly provided with amusement.”

“Notice I’m not laughing.”

“I am not responsible for your bitterness. That is a personal failing.”

“You can have bread, cheese, biscuits, fruit… I can get a plate of meats ready for you to make sandwiches…”

“Will any of that be hot?”

Greg cut a cautious glance at the tiny microwave and realized that there were limits to his bravery.

“No.”

“You are lying.”

“I lie about everything, according to you, so why do you sound surprised?”

“I am not.”

“I know. I was trying to make myself feel better for lying. I… I can show you how to use the microwave oven, because I really don’t want you trying the flamey stovetop until you can see, but microwaves are… they have a lot of rules. How about I show you how the kettle works and you can have unlimited tea?”

“I am now curious about this electromagnetic oven.”

Greg kicked himself for listening to his mother’s ghost scolding him for fibbing and delivering this fresh slice of hell into his life.

“It’s not a… well, yes it is. Microwaves are that type of wave if I remember my schooling correctly but you really don’t want…”

“I do. Now.”

“Ok…”

This is your fault, mum. I _will_ be there with you at some point to give you the what for in ghostly person, so get ready for it. It won’t be pretty.

“You put what you want to heat inside and… oh. This one doesn’t have a spinny bit, but I don’t think you’d be doing any actual cooking so that may not be a problem. So… you put what you want to heat inside and then there’s a panel on the front that lets you input how long you want it to run. That… I’m not sure for one this size how long anything would take… it varies by size, see? Or power, really, but that’s usually related to size… and it also depends on what you want to heat. No metal! Better get that in straight off. No metal in one of these. So a plate or paper or plastic. Though you have to be a touch careful with some plastic because it’ll melt. Or it used to. I’m not sure if that’s still the case, but it pays to be cautious. And you have to watch for splatters so put something over what you’re heating. Unless it’s a cup of coffee then you’re fine. Or if you’re doing a bit of popcorn, because that comes in its own bag and keeps things from splattering. But if you want to toss in a slice of pizza, that could make a mess, but nobody microwaves pizza but savages, regardless of what Donovan says, so…”

It was only then Greg realized that Mycroft had wandered away with the rest of the bread, a biscuit packet and the jam.

“I warned you! Microwaves are for experts only.”

“I will find information on the Internet concerning the topic. Your skills as an instructor are dreadful.”

“No. Yes. For some things. If it’s police things, I’m actually very good. Taught a few classes and skills-refresher sessions. But look at you with an armload of nibbles, none of which are hot. That’s proper fortitude, that is. Still want your Coke?”

“Yes. It slipped my mind. Or, rather, my mind was liquefying from your prattle and the thought of it oozed from a suitable orifice and escaped.”

“I did not need to know that last bit.”

“Yet, now you do.”

And you’re talking and talking and talking, Mycroft. I love it! Even if you’re evil.

“And you also know why I didn’t want to broach microwaves straight away.”

“An infantile piece of technology. Have you nothing with appropriate voice-guided function?”

“You do?”

Drat. Foiled by what can only, and fairly, be described as hubris. Fortunately, the slip is not catastrophic, according to this Internet…

“My question was based upon information I have gathered from your computer. It appears that such technology is becoming more common in dwellings and for personal use.”

“Oh, got it. And, no, there’s nothing here besides my phone that’s voice activated and I don’t even use that function on my mobile because it’s creepy and I’m old. Some people go for that smart device and smart home sort of thing, but it all seems a bit unnecessary to me. If you want food delivered, pick up the phone! Or, do that thing where you order online. Yelling out ‘Order pizza’ into the air is the sort of thing I’d make a call to the appropriate services for so the poor person got the care they needed for their current mental state. You’re not paying _any_ attention to me, are you?”

Given Mycroft was already halfway through the biscuits and had again donned his headphones to listen to the voice of the Internet.

“No. I am unclear, however, on the appeal of this… pizza. It seems a… bizarre creation.”

“Ok, changing the menu so we make pizza tomorrow and not chicken. I think I saw yeast in the cupboard, so we can do a proper dough, too. It’s amazing! It’s one of those things that can be cheap and quick or expensive and slow, common or posh, spanning every possible taste or sensibility. It’s… democratic. It’s a fucking brilliant example of democracy in action and must be embraced wholeheartedly or there’s something punishingly wrong with you and you can stand way over there away from me, thank you very much.”

“Are you finished?”

“Not really, but I can say the rest in my head and that’s adamant enough for my purposes.”

“Be silent.”

“I _was_ being silent until you decided you wanted me to become a chicken thief.”

“Poultry would be more agreeable to my ears than you, Goink.”

“You’re doing that on purpose! It’s easy. Greg. Like ‘leg’ but with a ‘Gr’ in front instead of the ‘l.’ And don’t say you can’t pronounce it because you pronounce words a lot more complex that than little 4-letter jobbie.”

“I prefer Goink.”

“You do not, because it’s only one item on a long and ridiculous list that you make up in your evil brain every time you feel like being… evil. Say it. Gr-eg.”

“Goi-nk. Like ‘oink,’ but with a ‘G’ in the front.”

And, of course, the bastard had to flick a biscuit into the air and catch it in his mouth, what with being blind made the gesture so sodden with panache it was dripping pails of it onto the rug.

“What do have against Greg?”

“If you must know…”

“I must.”

“It is very near in sound to G^u&.”

Uh… not really, but in a very roundabout and not really sort of way, ok?”

“G^u& is a minute parasite that inhabits what… hold one moment…”

Mycroft positioned his hands over the keyboard, checked they were properly aligned with the right keys, then typed a moment.

“… what you would call the penile urethra.”

“It’s s cock bug!”

“More a worm, than an insect proper.”

“A cock worm! That’s… yeah, that’s worse than a bug. Oooohhh… that’s making my chap squirm with the very thought of it. Wait… wait one fucking minute. If that was true, the cock worm business, you’d _love_ calling me Greg. It would fly off your tongue even when you didn’t need to say it. Oh, you bastard…”

The cock worm had the occasional flash of intellect and insight, it seemed.

“Very well, the translation was not entirely accurate.”

“Meaning it was a lie.”

“If you wish to bat about labels.”

“I’ll bat the bastards like a cricket ball. So, now I’ve got proof you’re just being rotten, not that I needed additional proof, you realize, but I’ve got proof on this particular issue, so… Greg. It’s Greg and I don’t want to hear anything else out of that horrid mouth of yours.”

“What if I desire a Coke? Do I request a Greg instead? Oh, I know… Servant! My Greg itches. Come and Greg it for me.”

And he’d do it, too. For days on end. The bastard.

“What can you possibly have against my name? It’s simple, unpretentious, doesn’t draw attention away from your 74-letter one… what?”

When Mycroft didn’t answer, Greg only waited a moment before walking up to the small computer desk by the window, shuffling his feet so Mycroft knew he was coming, and stood next to him while the silence continued.

“Mycroft?”

“I have work to continue.”

“Just be honest with me, alright?”

“It is not your concern.”

“Mycroft…”

“Not. Your. Concern.”

Opening his mouth to respond, Greg reconsidered and closed it again. There obviously was a reason here, and it wasn’t a funny or happy one. He _did_ want to know, if only to be a supportive ear for Mycroft’s troubles, but sharing something that was clearly private and likely painful required trust, something that was a touchy subject with them at the moment. There’d be time aplenty to dive into this more fully, so moving on… sort of.

“Alright. But, I _am_ here to listen if you want to talk. In any case, I would like something actually related to me to be what you call me, so could you do Gregory? It’s my genuine recorded name, but… why the _fuck_ are you laughing?”

And spitting out your new biscuit over the computer. Bloody cheek.

“That. That is your name?”

“What’s wrong with it.”

“Oh… nothing. Nothing at all. And I’ll happily use it, Gregory. Fear not, Gregory. I will merrily and eagerly call you Gregory, Gregory.”

And he’s still laughing. This was a mistake. And he’d done it to himself! Goink was better than whatever this was!

“Fine. What does it mean?”

“Nothing… nothing to fret about. Hee hee hee…”

“Tell me.”

“I have forgotten.”

“You miserable sod. It’s something truly horrible, isn’t it?”

“Horrible is such a… debatable word.”

“No, it isn’t when my fucking name is involved.”

“I believe another cat video is preparing to play on your computer. This one has a most jaunty musical accompaniment to the tiny mews. My Coke, _Gregory_?”

Greg knew well that clenching his fists was a gesture utterly lost on someone who couldn’t see, but he did it anyway to satisfy principle. Hearing his feet stomp off to fret, fume and retrieve a beverage, Mycroft let a smile spread on his dark lips and hummed a fragment of a tune where half the notes were outside of Greg’s range of hearing.

Gregory… what a delightful tidbit of information. Almost as delicious as knowing precisely where he was sitting, owing to a very convenient feature of this Internet that allowed you to know your location. And there were so many programs with maps and travel directions and many sorts of things that he was quickly amassing to plot a strategy for leaving here, remaining hidden and finding the others of his people so wrongfully imprisoned by the humans. It might prove a touch tricky, given it was unlikely that such places were clearly marked with their actual function, but he was nothing if not supremely skilled in analyzing information for patterns. Further, the humans believed their technology to be sophisticated when, in truth, it was painfully simplistic in many respects. Delving into areas prohibited to most would be an easy task once he had the time to learn more of the specifics of these systems. Accessing a computer once he escaped could prove tricky, but little obstructed him for long. As soon as he had a report on the condition and expectations for his sight, he could finalize his plans and carry them out.

Perhaps he would be here for only a day or so more. Perhaps he would be here for longer. Regardless, Gregory was proving a competent servant, so his physical needs would be met. And he was so pitifully easy to vex that his entertainment needs would be seen to, as well…


	11. Chapter 11

“Intolerable!”

Fortunately, Mycroft had been outside when Stamford phoned or Greg was fairly certain he would have done some impressive damage to their humble home.

“It’s very tolerable. His colleague couldn’t make their meeting last night, so they’re having it tonight. Besides, he sent her your file so she can look at it today before they talk. That just gives her more time to analyze what she sees and maybe do some research of her own. It’s a good thing, really.”

“I must know now!”

“Well, you’re not going to, so just… relax. We’ll hear more tomorrow. It’s only one day.”

“One day where I know not whether I am blind for life!”

Greg scowled, but not at Mycroft. More _for_ Mycroft. If it was him, he’d be reacting exactly the same way, no matter how reasonable and practical he liked to fancy himself.

“You’re right and you deserve to be upset that what was sort of promised didn’t happen. Especially for something as important as this. But… it happens. Things come up, plans change, people have to shuffle things about…

“Not when I am involved! I am a k…”

Mycroft stopped himself just in time.

“… I am a consequential medical case. This is not a bruised arm or abraded knee.”

“And nobody knows that better than Stamford.”

“Knowing and caring are two entirely different things.”

“True, yes, no question about it. However, he does care, so that’s not the issue. Here… come with me.”

“No.”

“I’m not taking you to the gallows.”

“I have no desire to accompany you anywhere.”

“It’s outside…”

“I care not.”

Not this again.

“You care lots. Come on, I think you’ll feel better. Be less angry. You can’t, from my experience., do a proper prowl through the Internet if you’re angry. You go in all sorts of bad directions and waste your time completely.”

Which could be true but could also be an enormous lie. Regardless, Mycroft didn’t need to know that now.

“What do you intend?”

“Just come on. It’ll be a nice surprise.”

“I abhor surprises.”

“Wrong. You very much liked the ice lolly surprise you got last night.”

Which could be verified by a photo on Greg’s phone showing a diabolical demon-like creature trying to hide his smile when something very sweet and refreshing hit his tongue.

“You are worryingly deluded.”

“Then prove it. Come with me.”

Mycroft scowled dangerously, but it was nearly as dangerously as he could muster, so Greg didn’t deign to comment.

“Very well. But recognize that I am not content with your secrecy.”

“Giving a nice surprise isn’t the same as being nastily secretive, but we can have a philosophical discussion about that later. Here, take my arm…”

“I can walk out of doors on my own.”

“Not this time. Just do it.”

Mycroft snarled, but decided the quickest way to end this nonsense, besides killing his manservant, was to go along with the nonsense until his little pet tired of his game. Placing his hand on the arm that was bumping against it, Mycroft followed Greg out of the cottage and quickly, albeit grudgingly, understood Greg’s caution as they ventured in a direction they had yet to travel and one, though only _he_ knew this, his various navigation techniques would have been hard-pressed to manage since he had yet to attempt even the shortest flight.

“We’ll go slow, and check your footing before you take a step. The path is fairly clear, but it’s narrow and windy and the rocks on either side will probably hurt even you if you stumble and fall.”

The path to the water. Mycroft had contemplated chancing it, several times, but even tuning his echolocation as finely as possible, he hadn’t been able to clearly discern the entirety of the path and, though he wasn’t terribly worried about a fall hurting the majority of him, the thought of hitting his head and further reducing his chances of restoring his sight had made him hesitant about trying.

“Ok, here we go, nice and slow…”

I know you are moving slowly, insect. However, it is facilitating my memorizing the path, so I shall not remove one of your limbs as penalty for your condescension.

“It’s nice they did this, isn’t it? I don’t mind climbing over rocks, but not every time I want to put my toes in the ocean. Which, did you notice I didn’t ask you to put on your shoes?”

No. Because I am cross with you for a thousand valid and pressing reasons.

“Yes. I am not stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were. Ok, just a little more… isn’t that a wonderful feel? Good salty wind on your face. I’ve always loved the smell of the sea, too. Not those dreadful times it’s hot and the air’s stagnant and there’s dead fish on the shore and it’s just tragically horrid, but this… this is something I’ve loved all my life. And, now, all I have to do is open a window! It’s the life, isn’t it? Just a few more steps… few more… and… yes. Feel that lovely sand? Only a few rocks here and there tossed about and they’re small, so it’s really perfect by my standards. Want to walk along the sand or… oh, there you go. Wait for me!”

Mycroft had already followed the direction of the breeze and the sound of the waves straight towards the water, walking in so his ankles were covered in cold, constantly moving water.

“Gotta kick off these shoes… there. And nobody nearby to steal them! Shit! Ok, that’s cold. I knew it would be, but it’s still a bite to the toes. A good bite, though. Let me know if it’s too cold for you, though and… ok, you’re wading deeper. Let me check that there’s no ugly surprises waiting…”

Greg splashed forward to get a better idea of what Mycroft might find under his feet and was very happy that there didn’t seem to be much in the way of sharp rocks or a sudden drop since he had no real idea if his friend could swim. Or float, for that matter. Mycroft’s body density was actually a bit worrying on that score.

“Alright, it seems fairly safe to stroll about. I’m going to ask and you’ll probably try and smack me, but can you swim? Or float?”

Mycroft’s hand flexing so his claws came out to gleam in the weak sun was balanced by his hand staying at his side, so Greg decided not to start swimming… or wading… for his life.

“Is that a yes?”

“Predict.”

“I predict… no.”

“You appall me with your stupidity.”

“You appall me with your inability to detect sarcasm. Well, not appall, really, because that’s rather harsh. Surprise is a better word. However, this does tell me I have a lot of fun to look forward to in my future, so that’s a bright spot. And you can swim! That’s another bright spot. This is going to be a great place to swim, too. And we’ve got a boat! I have no idea why, but maybe it’s for fishing, because I did find fishing equipment. That’s not a bad idea, actually. Spend an afternoon lounging on the open water and come back with fresh fish for dinner. This place is the gift that keeps on giving!”

Mycroft chose to ignore most of Greg’s speech and focused himself on the feel of the water against his skin and the substrate beneath his feet. Very similar in sensation to what he cherished when he visited the stretch of beach his rooms overlooked. Always a balm for his soul, though this was much colder. However, that was a relatively minor issue if he remained only a brief while, which was usually his norm. So little time for himself. So little time to relax and enjoy life’s simple pleasures. In some ways, it would be a blessing to linger here awhile and take advantage of the pitifully-few amenities that availed themselves but, as always, he had other responsibilities. Others who demanded his attention, time and effort. It was his lot in life and that did not change for any reason. Even one that gave him his own measure of happiness…

“Anyway, I don’t know if swimming is a good idea what with the bandages over your eyes, but how about a nice walk in the water? Or the sand. Or both! Move to the sand when we get too cold, then back into the water, when the legs warm up?”

“Your prattle mars the enjoyment of any activity.”

“I like to think of it as a soundtrack. Maybe I’ll bring my guitar down here next time we want a dip and compose something appropriate. How the legs? Frozen yet?”

Not… entirely.

“You lack fortitude.”

“It’s more I lack self-heating legs. I’m going to continue on land for awhile. Feel free to join me or wade a little longer. It’s a clear path either way and I’ll tell you if you start to veer in a funny direction.”

Mycroft snarled, but remembered not to mention that he had several mechanisms to ensure he continued on the current course. The less information the insect had, the better. However, the water _was_ most chilly…

“Joining me it is! That’s the great thing about it all. It’s our beach so we can do as we like. A fire would be nice. Have a fire on a night it’s not quite as windy. Sit out and just listen to the waves or maybe a bit of radio. I do love a fire, too, which is why I’m thrilled we can have one anytime in the cottage. And that there’s a brace of strong backs to manage the firewood collection. It’s a joy, though. I did mean to ask and forgot, is your room warm enough?”

“Scarcely adequate.”

“Meaning it’s lovely and toasty. Good. So, to check the score, the food’s good, your room is comfortable, you like our bit of property and the computer is working to your satisfaction. I’d say that’s a victory for us!”

“Who is us?”

“Me, myself and I.”

“Inane.”

“Thank you! I tried my best.”

__________

It wasn’t a surprise that after an hour of faffing about at the water’s edge, Mycroft dove into the shower to quickly warm himself with a torrent of hot water, then bundled himself in enough layers to weigh down an ox, since Greg had lowered the temperature in their sitting room by enough degrees to keep himself from sweating, but not give Mycroft a what would surely be infuriating case of the chills if he added a few layers over his skin.

What was surprising was the demand for a haircut.

“Run that past me again?”

“I require my hair be cut to a more appropriate length.”

“That’s… weirdly, that’s not something I even considered in all of this. I’m no barber, though.”

“Use scissors, a knife or whatever you choose, but shorten this… untidiness. It is annoying me.”

Looking hard at Mycroft’s hair, Greg had to admit it had grown quite a bit, even after he’d noticed it growing quite a bit, but it still wasn’t anything outlandish. However, what he thought about it wasn’t really the point.

“I can shorten what’s there, but I can’t… I don’t have the training to necessarily make it look good.”

“I doubt the task is a difficult one, even for you.”

“No, doing hair properly is skilled work and I don’t have the skill or the training. But if all you want is me taking a bit off everything, I can probably manage. Don’t blame me if you look like a poorly-sheared sheep when I’m done, though.”

“If you did not stop, every single time, to argue, matters would be handled in a much swifter and efficient manner.”

“You may think you’re a king but I don’t see a crown on your head.”

Because I left it in my dressing room for safekeeping. It is a dreadful thing, in any case, and damned uncomfortable to wear.

“What you do see is unacceptably long hair and are failing, in any manner, to address the issue because you are far more infatuated with the sound of your voice than dedicated to the responsibilities of your servitude.”

“Are you allergic to polite? Or nice?”

“One cannot suffer allergies to behavior.”

“Then what’s the reason? That’s a serious question.”

“There is no benefit in simpering or obsequiousness.”

“No, but there is for politeness and niceness. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

“Why would anyone want to catch flies? Do you eat them? Train them as pets?”

Greg had a comment to make then stopped because there was every chance those _were_ serious questions.

“No. It’s an expression that means you get more from people, and life, by being nice, polite, kind, whatever than being a sour bastard.”

“It is incorrect.”

“It is very correct.”

“You gain more from people when they recognize the cost to them of ignoring your wishes.”

“What planet are _you_ from?”

“Xpk$knvqqD&cyl#^BrkT.”

“Oh. Ok, that’s actually just an expression, but thanks. I… is actually that what it’s called?”

That may have been a miscalculation. But… did they not have that simple fact after so long a time?

“What would you expect?”

“Ummmm… ok, I can’t say it properly, so one moment, if you please.”

Mycroft listened as Greg moved to the computer, tapped awhile on the keyboard, then muttered a ‘yeah, that’s it’ before beckoning him over to have a listen.

“This is what I remember hearing.”

Interesting…

“Well? Who’s got it wrong?”

The miscalculation was bearing surprising fruits.

“That is another language.”

Of a people who denied vehemently any of their population going through a portal. Prideful peasants. Always secretive, always antagonistic, even when a hand was reaching out with assistance. But, it did provide some motive behind their clandestine meetings with members of his brother’s ridiculous network of operatives. Foolish boy, as if I would not learn of your little games… but, given they keep you occupied and let you play the puzzle solver, continue to play to your heart’s content. They also gain for me valuable intelligence, such as this band of buffoons actively concealing their encounters with the portals…

“You have multiple languages on your world?”

“You assumed otherwise?”

“I assumed nothing, really. There are a few bits of audio here from your people, but I wouldn’t know if it was the same or different languages.”

“Where did you find this? I searched for information on my people and found only the scantest of actual facts, though an abundance of insulting fiction.”

“That’s probably because the various governments don’t release it to the public. We’d get asked about your lot when I was on the job and I had nothing much to tell people but what little I’d seen on the telly.”

“How did you gain access to this, then?”

“Uhh… because I _have_ access to it. Not much, mind you, not everything, but when you’re accepted into the program, you get an account with more information than the average person gets so you can prepare. It’s the same account I’ll use to order groceries or other supplies for us and email my mates in London.”

“Why have I not been provided with one of these accounts?”

“Because you don’t order groceries or have mates to email.”

“I demand access to the information on my people!”

“I can’t set up an account for you, Mycroft. I don’t have the authority.”

“Then I shall use yours.”

“Wrong.”

“I demand to know what information exists concerning my people!”

Greg bit his lip because, being a bastard aside, Mycroft had a point. It _was_ his people and, really, what harm could it do. The man already knew everything himself but… there’s a difference between knowing things yourself and knowing what other people know. And maybe, just maybe, he’d add in additional detail or correct something that was wrong. Answer a question that someone had added to a file…

“How about this. I’ll call up that part of the site and you can listen to the same stuff I studied when I joined the program. And, no, I can’t get more for you because I’m not authorized. This will be everything they gave me and I warn you now, it’s not much.”

Greg navigated to the page of background information and told Mycroft to have at it. It didn’t surprise him in the least when, five minutes later, Mycroft was hissing and snarling at him.

“Where is the rest?”

“Do you remember my timely warning? Well, ta dah!”

“This cannot be the entirety of it.”

“It’s the entirety of what they let me have, yes.”

“How many of my people are here? Where are they being housed? Why is that not recorded?”

“I’m sure it is but they’re not going to let somebody like me know that. I’ve got no need to know any of it and certainly none of the proper security clearances, even with my former police standing.”

“That is unacceptable.”

“Ok, but I still can’t do anything about it.”

“You are useless!”

“For this, yes, I am. I suspect you could find the locations of various accommodations; they can’t be too secret since anyone living nearby would pick up on what they were fairly easily, but how many are actually in use? No, that’s not something they’d let out. Sorry.”

Mycroft growled with such force that it rattled the keyboard on the table but Greg suspected it was more out of frustration than a desire to take his head off his shoulders. Hopefully.

“I am hungry. See to it.”

Greg had no idea if that was true or if Mycroft simply didn’t want to talk to him anymore at the moment, but time for his new friend to cool down was probably wise. So, quiet preparation of something to eat then settle in with a book for a little reading.

Hearing Greg move towards their tiny kitchen space, Mycroft snarled and forced himself to quell the anger and frustration that was churning in his brain. Of course, the human was of no use, what had he believed otherwise? However, there was one small mote of insight that could prove useful. Humans were needlessly and irritatingly communicative people. This Internet of theirs was brimming with the most nauseating drivel but, this single time, it might prove to his advantage. He hadn’t stumbled upon any direct information about his people, information from what passed here for authoritative sources, but there was an ocean of blather from other sources that he had dismissed after a cursory perusal. If he looked for patterns, reinforced data on locations where his people had been sighted or were believed to be housed, he could, at minimum, establish preliminary locations to search when he escaped. Which would be the instant he received a report that his sight would be restored. Any longer than that and enforced contact with his slave would rot his brain…


	12. Chapter 12

Peeking outside again, Greg smiled that his housemate was still sitting on the little bench he’d apparently claimed as his own, with wings outstretched, seemingly catching what few rays of sun were making it through the clouds, and listening to his music player. He’d been like that a good hour now and it was surprising, in some respects, since he hadn’t asked for breakfast and didn’t seem to have made something himself. Of course, he _could_ have thrown any number of things down his throat this morning since there had been _two_ raids on the larder before this old copper went to bed and, given Mycroft’s somewhat voracious appetite, it was getting hard to track the status of the provisions at any given time.

“Mycroft? Want breakfast?”

Ok, that went unanswered. Could be because it wasn’t heard, what with the headphones, or simply ignored, what with the bastardness. Leaning towards the latter, so time for some remote attention getting.

Greg stooped and picked up a pebble, hefted it a moment to make certain it was heavy enough to throw, but not heavy enough to hurt, and tossed it at Mycroft’s shoulder. Where it was caught by the hand opposite the targeted shoulder an instant before impact.

“That was amazing! How… how on Earth did you do that?”

It was achieved through your complete lack of stealth, natural abilities you need not know about, and a great desire to humiliate you before breakfast.

“Do what?”

“Oh, fuck you. You want breakfast or not? I don’t care either way, but I’m not cooking again this morning if you decide you get peckish in fifteen minutes.”

“You cook when I desire it.”

“I cook when _I_ desire it and leave a plate for you, if necessary. Stings, doesn’t it? Stings like a bee.”

“I have never experienced a bee sting, so your words are nonsensical.”

“Ok, stings like a hypodermic needle back at the medical facility.”

“That, at least, I understand, though it was of the most minor inconvenience and a paltry threat, at best.”

You’ve got a lilt to your voice today, Mycroft. Why are you so happy?

“Why are you so happy?”

Because I believe my night’s work bought me at least six locations for housing my brethren and confidence they are as poorly guarded as this pathetic place.

“Am I? I failed to notice.”

“Aren’t you the pithy one today. Well, it’s better than crotchety, so I’ll take it. Now, breakfast? I’m famished and can hear a lovely fry up calling to me as we speak.”

“Fry up? Is that provided with jam?”

“Oh my god. You have a problem. Yes, there’s jam if you want it.”

“Then I desire a fry up with jam. You may bring it to me here.”

“You may bring yourself in the house. Your food will get cold out here in the wind.”

“I choose to eat outdoors.”

“Then I’ll bring you some untoasted bread and jam. That doesn’t care if it’s cold.”

“You did not mention sausages.”

“Sausages like to be eaten hot. So does bacon, eggs, porridge, toast, beans, and lots of other breakfast foods. I’ll put butter on your bread, too. That’s happy cold or hot.”

“I want meat.”

“Then get your meaty arse in here so it doesn’t go cold and you complain about that, too. Or, promise now that I won’t hear a word of complaint from you about it when I _do_ bring a plate out here and it chills disgustingly.”

Gregory was a sour and disagreeable human in the morning. It was utterly unprofessional, both for a slave and a spy.

“You are sour and disagreeable.”

“You want a sour breakfast, you say? Ok, some raw lemons and vinegar for you, then. There are pickles, as well, so I’ll toss a few on your plate for color.”

He would likely do that, too. A more vengeful creature one could never find besides, perhaps, his brother.

“If it prevents your internal organs from seizing in upset, I shall take breakfast indoors.”

“Thank you, my liege. Very kind of you, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, it is. Do not assume such munificence shall be bestowed a second time.”

“You have no idea what polka dots are but you know words like munificence. There’s something wrong in your head.”

Mycroft walked towards the door of the cottage, making certain to smack Greg in the face with his wing before retracting it to enter their home.

“Wonderful. At least I know better what it feels like, though. Sort of… batty. Have you researched bat wings in your traipse through the Internet? Cute little buggers. Like puppies with wings! You’re not terribly puppy-like, but that’s fine since you’re not actually a bat. Just have batty wings.”

Mycroft stepped back out of the cottage, extended his wings, smacked Greg in the face again, then strolled back inside as his wings retracted. For his part, Greg gave a mental thumbs up since he strongly believed Mycroft could smack a man’s face hard enough to snap his neck, so progress!

“Definitely batty. For several reasons! While I’m getting breakfast together, want to regale me with your new knowledge about the human race from your night of Interneting?”

“A vulgar and wretched species.”

“That’s not new.”

The insect had a point.

“I assessed the level of your technology, analyzed various social and cultural structures, evaluated military capabilities, political and governing systems, as well as economic structures and theories…”

“Oh… I was hoping for fun things, but that’s all… well, I suppose it’s fun for someone, I’m just glad I’m not the one studying it.”

Because you are neither a king, nor an appreciable intellect, it is unsurprising these rather significant bits of information pose no interest to you whatsoever. For you, there are cat videos.

“When will Stamford make his report?”

“I don’t know. When he does, I suppose. He’s got other work to do besides worry about us.”

“My needs exceed in import any others he might consider.”

“That could be your most arrogant statement yet. I should make a chart or something so I know for certain. He said he’d phone, so he will, even if the news is that he’s got no news. Doctor Stamford doesn’t strike me as someone who breaks a promise like that.”

“Humans have no integrity.”

“Bollocks.”

“Apparently, you do have those, so says your Internet.”

“Browsing porn, were you? That’s normal, at least.”

“Porn… pornography?”

“Yep.”

“Certainly not. I did, however, verse myself on the anatomical and physiological features of the human species.”

Or, better stated, filled several gaps in existing knowledge.

“That makes sense. You’re already an eye expert, so why not broaden your horizons? Well, you have time and resources to learn all you like! Apparently, we do have a library account for ebooks and audiobooks, so I’ll show you that today and you can download all you like. We’ve got a couple of tablets here, so reading will be easy enough. And playing games. I have to see what we have for game access, but I’ll show you some cracking ones to pass a fun half hour or so when you just want a bit of silly fun.”

“I never want… silly fun.”

“I suspect you do, you just worry it detracts from your air of malevolence, and appearances must be maintained, am I right?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Pfft. Sausages or bacon?”

“Yes.”

“Which?”

“Both.”

“You’re going to get fat. Not that I find anything wrong with that, but you seem the vain sort.”

“I do not!”

“Ooh! That got a rise out of you. Usually does from vain people.”

“I am in no manner vain. You are mistaking me for my brother.”

Oh dear.

“Brother! You have a brother and you never mentioned him? What’s his name?”

Well, there is no turning back from _this_ dreadful mistake, is there?

“If you must pry, it is Skzh^*lkNnd#furtqB@vLqfkT&%Xt.”

“Let me guess… he has a longer one like you do and that’s the short one for when he’s at home?”

“Effectively, yes.”

“Ok, then what can I call him that my tongue can pronounce until I learn your language. Which I will.”

“Doubtful. In any case...”

He will hound me incessantly if an answer is not provided. Miserable cur.

“Zh… Sh, perhaps… Sh…uur…lok%T.”

“Is… Sher… lock… close?”

Laughably no.

“It will suffice.”

“Hurray for me! So, Sherlock’s got a vain streak, does he? Younger or older than you?”

“Younger. Where is my meal?”

“It’s coming. Are you close?”

“To what?”

“To your brother?”

That was a question not easily answered.

“To an extent.”

“Got it. It’s that way with siblings, sometimes. I don’t have any myself, but I have friends who do and it’s always some bit of bickering here and a grudge there, mixed with love and pride. Ooh, looks like I have to order lots of bread because we’re certainly going through it quickly. Or make my own. I haven’t done that in years, but it’s actually fun and we can make all sorts of different types. Ok, here’s your plate, utensils and toast in their usual location, as is your great love, the jam.”

Mycroft snorted thunderously, but tucked into his breakfast with his typical fastidiousness and speed that amazed Greg to no end. The man was eerily precise and tidy, but would have his plate cleared in very much the timeframe he recognized from those days on the job when he was having to rush to get something into his system while someone was busily trying to tug him away to a crime scene. Really, just give me two minutes, the corpse isn’t going anywhere and I haven’t fucking had a thing in me since breakfast, alright? Yeah, that was a very familiar scene and he had to wonder if Mycroft’s time was similarly burdened with things that dragged him away from his desk or dinner table. Best not dig further right now, though. He’d already learned Mycroft had a brother and given his housemate’s reluctance to part with information, that was enough in the way of new discoveries for the time being.

“There’s a match on today, so I’m going to be watching that, if that’s alright with you. Hate to monopolize the telly, but given you can’t actually see it right now, I’m not hating it too much.”

“Match? You watch fires for recreation?”

“Football match. Sports. I used to play quite a bit, too, with my mates. Nothing professional, just kicking the ball about and collecting a fine set of bruises, but we had fun. I was pretty good! At least by the standard of middle-aged men who work for a living so they can’t really practice and whose fit youthful bodies are very distant memories.”

“Pointless.”

“Football? Nah, it’s not pointless. Chance to connect with friends, get a bit of exercise, do something different besides the same old routine which helps… well, it helps clear out the brain. You spend time thinking about and doing something off your weekly norm, so you’ve got to use other thinking bits in your head. Or use none of them, some days. There were a few sad occurrences when we were all more in the mood to bash heads than actually play, so brains were set aside while we had at it. Good times…”

“My opinion has not changed.”

“That’s alright. I wouldn’t expect you to want to have a go at it, anyway. Maybe the army lads will let an old man into a match for an afternoon.”

“Soldiers _are_ fit and young. You are neither.”

“I’m… ok, you’ve got a point, but they’ll take pity on a doddery old thing yearning for his glory days. They’re good like that, helping with disaster relief and I’m certainly a bit of a disaster.”

“That is true. I am returning outdoors. Notify me the instant Stamford has news to report.”

“You’re welcome! And, yes, I’ll be happy to clear away your plate and do the washing up.”

“Yes, you will.”

“It’s your turn the instant your eyes are ready!”

Which Greg hoped would happen and soon, not really for housework sharing, but because it was clear Mycroft was suffering greatly the loss of his sight. He tried to downplay it when he could, but it showed. And why wouldn’t it! It’d make _him_ loony! At least, until he learned ways to manage but it would still be balls not to be able to watch is team on the telly or marvel at whatever visual effects were exploding in one of his films. But, it was early yet and Mike would be getting his day started with all those responsibilities, before he sat down for a chat. Then… well, they’d see what they’d see. Figuratively…

__________

Greg had put his mobile on vibrate so when Stamford phoned it wouldn’t alert Mycroft and he could preview the news before it was broken to the target audience. How in the world Mycroft knew it rang was utterly beyond him, but the Visitor was crashing through the cottage door and lunging for the mobile before he’d even said hello.

“ _My_ phone, Mycroft!”

“Give it to me!”

Thinking better about starting a slappy-hand fight with someone who had actual claws, Greg simply held his phone behind his back and kept turning around while Mycroft tried to reach behind him to grab it.

“Just let me say hello to the man, will you? I’ll hand it over, I promise.”

Mycroft growled ferociously, but didn’t press his physical advantage and Greg quickly took a step back before raising his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Greg, it’s Mike Stamford. How are you today?”

“Good! Mycroft’s been sunning himself on a rock like a happy little lizard and I’ve been looking about on the computer for bread recipes. Yourself?”

“Cease this ridiculous prattle and ask about my eyes!”

No, because it’s making you loony and that’s a good thing now and then.

“As I was saying, Doctor Stamford, how’s your day been?”

“How crazed is he right now?”

“Off the scale.”

“Understandable. Any problems I should know about? Physical or… other?”

“Nope. Things are good, actually. This is a brilliant place to live and we’ve been taking full advantage of it.”

“Excellent! How much do you think we should wind him up by chatting about the weather and sports?”

“I think I’d be a dead man after the first bit of grousing about how the wind used to have a proper blow before all the kids started listening to that hip hop and such, so we’d best get on with the business of the day.”

“Very well, then…”

“Hold on, let me put this on speaker, so Mr. Excitable can hear… ok, there we go. Doctor Stamford, have you news concerning a certain patient’s eyes?”

Mycroft glared at Greg until he heard Stamford’s voice emanating from the phone, which quickly gained his full attention.

“I do, actually. Joyce had a hard look at the reports and scans I sent along and… let’s see, where did I put my notes…”

Greg suppressed a grin at the obvious jab at Mycroft who bellowed satisfyingly at the delay.

“Ah, here we go… the rate of progress Mycroft’s eyes have been demonstrating is very encouraging as is the degree to which the tissues are repairing. Given the most recent data is a couple of days old, she estimated the bandages could easily come off tomorrow, but with the caution to be alert for any changes in vision subsequent to their removal. Anything, no matter how minor, should be reported to the local team or to me so it can be checked and monitored. But, she was confident that if full vision wasn’t restored it’d be in 80% or above range and nearly full restoration was absolutely possible. It’s a good prognosis and she’s not one to spare feelings, so… this is very good news!”

Smiles were a rare thing for Mycroft, and Greg wasn’t entirely certain he’d ever seen a genuine, heartfelt one from his housemate until this very instant when Mycroft’s face broke into a truly delighted smile that transformed his face into something beaming with unbridled joy. For one half of one microsecond, then it was shoved aside for the more familiar simmering snarl to take its place in order to disguise any actual pleasure taken from the news.

“I’d say it is! Any additional care he’ll need? Drops or ointment or the like?”

“The drops I left along with the pills for his wings. The directions are on the labels. Simple antibiotics and anti-inflammatories more as a precaution than anything, but follow the guidelines anyway. For a few days, Mycroft should wear sunglasses outdoors because he’ll likely be a touch light sensitive. I don’t remember the cottage being too brightly lit, but take steps if that’s the case. Those eyes haven’t seen any light in awhile and they’ll need time to adjust. Overall, though, I’d say we’re closing this chapter of the story and good riddance!”

Greg watched Mycroft take a step back and nod, with the nod growing stronger until he seemed to remember he was not alone in the room and made ‘get on with it’ motions towards the phone.

“Mycroft seems overcome by the news, so I’ll say I’m glad for it in his stead. We did a bit of wading yesterday, so being able to find his way to the water for further exploration will probably be top on his list. That can be our afternoon! Take the boat out, do a little walking along the shore… perfect way to celebrate!”

“Sounds like it, that’s for certain. Well, I’ll leave you two to get on with it and let me know tomorrow how the great unveiling goes. Remember – anything Mycroft notices once the bandages are removed should immediately be reported because we certainly don’t want to go through all of this again.”

“You’ll be the first to hear our amazing news.”

While watching Mycroft’s continued fidgeting, Greg said his goodbyes and wished there was more he could do to help his housemate celebrate the good news. But even a manly punch on the arm would not be a thing happily accepted.

“Well, there we have it. Tomorrow we’ll unbandage those eyes and let you get a good and proper look at this gorgeous home we’ve been given.”

“The drops. Where are they?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Get them.”

“You don’t need them now.”

“I want them.”

“Why?”

“I am happier if they are in my possession.”

“The bathroom is your possession as much as mine, but if you feel better… hold on…”

Greg got the two small bottles Stamford had left them and handed them to Mycroft who held them a moment before stowing them in the pocket of his loose trousers.

“The… sunglasses. Do we have them?”

“That we do. I brought a couple of pairs for myself and one has very dark lenses, so it’ll be perfect for you. Should fit, too.”

“Let me try them.”

“Uh… they won’t fit so well with the bandages on your face.”

“Then let me feel them.”

“Fine, give me a minute.”

A bit of rummaging in his bedroom produced the pair of sunglasses Greg had mentioned and he handed this to Mycroft, who inspected them with his hands and nodded approvingly.

“Good.”

Mycroft stowed the sunglasses in the same pocket as his eyedrops then walked with what Greg admired as pinpoint precision to one of the tablets that was on the small table near the chair he usually sat in to watch the telly.

“This accesses the Internet, does it not?”

‘Uh… yes. It’s not as convenient as the computer for a lot of things, but it’s a good second device. Better used for reading books, watching movies on a trip or playing games, in my experience.”

‘Sufficient.”

“For what?”

Mycroft’s smile was not the previously delighted one. It was a satisfied, triumphant smile and Greg only hesitated a moment following Mycroft out the door of the cottage, while Mycroft was stripping off his shirt and jumper without bothering with the pesky process of pulling either over his head.

“Mycroft? What’s going on?”

“Enjoy your stay, Gregory.”

Seeing the large wings emerge from Mycroft’s back, Greg suddenly realized what was happening and ran forward to grab Mycroft’s arm.

“Mycroft, no! You can’t!”

In a split second, Mycroft wrenched away Greg’s arm, spun him around and, with claws extended, sliced upwards so a series of red rivulets appeared across Greg’s back through his ripped shirt a moment before Mycroft’s wings beat strongly and lifted him upwards and towards the water, moving fast up and away from the cottage.

“M… Mycroft! No!”

Ignoring the panicked sounds behind him, Mycroft rose higher, following the trajectory he had memorized to take him towards the nearest region he had located as a prison for one or more of his people. En route there were plentiful areas to land and remain hidden for a day or so while the military searched for him and to let his eyes adjust to being used once more.

“Mycroft! Come back! You… you can’t!” 

Oh, but I can, human. Verily, you are watching me do it.

“No! Mycroft! Please!”

Ignoring Greg’s increasingly panicked shouts, Mycroft flew fast and far savoring the feel of the air under his wings and the sweet taste of freedom on his tongue.

“Mycroft! Stop! Turn back now!”

Silly, silly human. Whyever would I do that given I…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Greg watched in despair as Mycroft hit the security barrier full force and spasmed a long moment before dropping like a stone the long distance into the ocean.

“MYCROFT!”

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder and back, Greg raced forward to the water’s edge to peer out at the dark figure bobbing in the distance, tossed about in the waves. He almost ran forward to start swimming but realized the distance was too far and the seas too rough to swim out there and back towing Mycroft’s heavy body with him. If it hadn’t sank to the bottom before he even reached it, that is. Looking about for help, Greg’s eyes lit on the small boat and he made a dash for it, getting the boat into the water and oars in hand as quickly as he could to begin rowing towards the limp form that seemed only to be staying afloat due to the outstretched wings providing a measure of buoyancy.

Rowing hard despite the harsh complaints of his injured shoulder and sharp, fiery stings from the cuts across his back, Greg slowly made progress towards the seemingly-lifeless body which, as he approached closer, Greg could see was face down in the water, legs dangling down as if poised to pull the rest of him into the depths. It seemed like an eternity of full-strength rowing before Greg drew close enough to Mycroft’s body for him to reach out and try to lift the heavy form into the boat. Given his arms were behaving much the same as wet noodles after rowing and Mycroft was deceptively heavy, Greg rolled into the frigid water and relied on an awkward combination of pushing, shoving, pulling, spinning and swearing to get Mycroft’s torso into the boat then painfully clambered back into the craft to drag the Visitor’s legs in before collapsing on top of Mycroft in a manner that would have the devilish being apoplectic with rage if he was conscious to realize it was happening.

Careful to avoid the still-outstretched wings, Greg breathed a few long moments then listened against Mycroft’s back, heaving a huge sigh of relief when it was clear that his passenger was still alive, albeit with shallow breathing, icy cold skin and what, to Greg’s ear, was a weak heartbeat. Wishing he had the luxury of just laying there for another year or two, Greg heaved himself up, repositioned Mycroft so there was room to row the boat and started back towards shore, wishing to the stars that one of those young army paratroopers would make a landing in their boat and take up the oars to get them home. Given an extra person wouldn’t _fit_ in their boat, though, someone would have to go over the side and he wasn’t prepared to dog paddle the hundred leagues to dry land.

Feeling every bit the cold, the pain and the crash of weakness from ebbing adrenaline, Greg strained and swore, which invokes magical strength, with every pull on the oars, worrying more and more about Mycroft’s still-limp form, until he was seeing and hearing the world as a blur that only snapped into focus when the oars scraped bottom and the boat went aground on the shore. Not bothering to drag the boat further out of the water, Greg saved his strength to drag the boat’s _occupant_ from it, instead, and onto the sand and rocks of the beach. Mycroft was still alive, but didn’t seem to be doing well and didn’t respond in any discernable way to the light taps or harder smack Greg gave to his face.

How to get him to the cottage? With extended wings, dragging him face up didn’t seem a smart plan, but dragging him face down didn’t either. Could he carry him? It was a fairly steep incline , though a short one, but stumbling and falling wasn’t going to help either of them in the slightest. He couldn’t leave Mycroft here, though. His breathing and, oddly, skin color were worrying. He was growing pale and, since that wasn’t a good sign in humans, it probably wasn’t a good sign here and the cold wind and waves weren’t going to make it better.

Greg dithered another moment, then decided to use his indecision time to try and encourage Mycroft’s wings to retract, first with giving small pushes along the edges, then massaging the thicker areas close to his body from which they protruded. Slowly, with gentle effort, he was able to start them folding and that stimulation prompted the wings to begin to pull in on their own, following whatever pattern was natural to bring them back into Mycroft’s frame. Then, having taken his own bit of rest during the wing massaging, Greg steeled his resolve and, drawing on his sense memories of having to carry unconscious victims or suspects when they couldn’t be left in situ for medical personnel to tend, hoisted Mycroft up and over his shoulder, staggering sharply at the heavy weight and very carefully wriggling to distribute that weight a bit more effectively so he didn’t topple them both onto the ground.

With a grunt that would have embarrassed his younger self, Greg set his legs in motion, keeping his eyes locked on the cottage and relying on stubborn pride to keep those legs in motion, slowly moving step by step up the incline, pausing when even his stubborn pride said another step taken at that precise moment would end with a buckled knee and face plant on the ground. Feeling sweat break out on his skin, Greg heard each clamoring voice from his shoulder and back scream with insult while his brain screamed back at them to shut the fuck up because every bit of attention and energy was assigned to the legs and sod off with their nonsense until such time as that wasn’t necessary.

With his heart pounding a frightening tempo in his ears, Greg slogged up the winding path, nearly weeping with relief when he reached the top and the flat, even terrain to the cottage which his momentum pushed him across at what felt like lightning speed, even though it was probably a snail’s crawl, and through the still-open door to the shower where he dumped Mycroft’s body and turned the water fully on hot. Racing back to grab the mobile he’d left on the kitchen table, Greg slammed his finger on the medical emergency icon, then started stripping off his own clothes while darting back to the bath to get Mycroft’s trousers off of him and, with one final heave, Mycroft’s body vertical to hold against the hot spray of the shower head, rubbing the Visitor’s extremities vigorously to encourage the blood to circulate that luscious heat deep into Mycroft’s core.

“You’re bloody stupid, Mycroft. Hear that? Stupid! Did you think, really think, we were just out here where anyone could get in or out? That you could flitter off like some fucking parrot wanting a holiday? Stupid… well, get ready for the bollocking of your life and if you’ve fucked your eyes good and proper for being a stupid, stupid prat, then the devil take them and I’ll wave happily as they go. Just don’t let that happen, you stupid sod… don’t be blind and don’t be hurt and don’t be messed up too badly, ok? Please, Mycroft… just be alright…”


	13. Chapter 13

It was testament both to how worried Greg was and how bloody exhausted he felt that two armed soldiers bursting into the bath wasn’t enough to have him do more than raise an eyebrow and an exhausted arm to give them an ‘It’s ok, lads, no danger here’ wave, which quickly sent them out to make room for a smaller, blond man in uniform who carried a hefty bag emblazoned with a familiar symbol signaling ‘medical gear inside.’

_ And _ it was testament to the doctor’s professionalism that he took completely in stride the sight of Greg in a very awkward position in the shower, having maneuvered his legs to brace them against the shower wall to help support Mycroft, who was laying slumped against his chest, because his aching arm had given up and said fuck it not long after it realized it wasn’t needed for emergency duty any longer, and simply made a few quick checks before turning off the water and helping Greg get Mycroft dried and into his bed with the heat turned up to sweltering.

“Well, Doctor…”

“Watson. Call me John. I’m not one for formality when I’m wearing my doctor’s hat.”

“Thanks. I’m Greg, though you probably knew that.”

“I did. Does _he_ have a name?”

“It’s not in his file?”

“No… Visitors are assigned a number in the system and it’s on the local team to determine what they prefer to be called when we interact with them directly. I know him as 724, but that’s not a thing you want to call someone who’s your patient.”

No, and Greg knew well how Mycroft would take it if he was referred to by a cold, impersonal and, frankly, demeaning number.

“Mycroft. At least, that’s what we compromised on since his real name isn’t something I could begin to pronounce.”

“Mycroft, then. Want to tell me what happened?”

Greg quickly recounted the details of his experience while John made further checks and began cutting away the bandages on Mycroft’s eyes.

“I didn’t know what to do about those. Doctor Stamford said his eyes would be light sensitive and I didn’t want him to open them while the bandages were off and… he had sunglasses in his pocket but I don’t know… maybe they’re still there…”

John stopped what he was doing a moment and took a hard look at Greg, nodded slightly and quickened his work getting the bandages off of Mycroft’s eyes and replacing them with a few wraps of clean, dry cotton gauze.

“Alright, his vitals are stable for the moment, but it’s a good thing you got him warmed up when you did. That was good thinking with the hot shower.”

“I… he was just so cold. And his color was bad. He was getting pale, for him, and… I hope it helped.”

Taking another look at Greg who was now staring almost confusedly at Mycroft, John smiled reassuringly and tucked away his current supplies before closing his medical kit.

“It did help, no question about it. But I’m worried about you right now, Greg, so let’s get you sorted while he has a warm nap in his cozy bed.”

“But, you didn’t actually look at his eyes. Just bandaged them. That’s important. If something is wrong with them…”

“I _will_ look at them, I promise, but he’ll be unconscious for a bit and you look like you’re heading in that direction yourself. Come on, Greg, let’s get you somewhere a bit cooler and I’ll look you over.”

“I’d… I’m ok right now, so make certain first that…”

John reached behind Greg and laid his hand against Greg’s back, pulling it back around to let Greg see the blood smear he’d collected even through Greg’s hastily donned shirt.

“You’re hurt, Greg. And probably in shock. Something’s wrong with your arm, too, isn’t’ it? Let Sleeping Beauty rest a bit while I tend to you then I promise I’ll look at his eyes and everything else that might be a problem. Alright?”

John waited while Greg looked at Mycroft for another long moment, then nodded his head and accepted John’s help rising from the edge of Mycroft’s bed. And, truth be told, he _was_ feeling rather queer, beyond the aches and pains, and could do with a breath of cooler air and maybe a little water.

“Water you can have aplenty. I’ll even put ice in it.”

“Oops. I said that out loud?”

“That and how much you loved My Little Pony.”

“Friendship _is_ magic.”

“So I’ve been told. But, usually by people under the age of 10.”

Greg laughed somewhat weakly and gratefully accepted John pointing him to a chair while he filled a cup with water and a few cubes of ice for Greg to sip.

“Alright, let me have a look at what I suspect are some ugly things on your back.”

“Like moles and those pesky ingrown hairs?”

“Like claw marks.”

“Oh yeah, those.”

Greg set down his water and slowly pulled off his shirt, wincing sharply at the pain in his shoulder, which certainly didn’t go unnoticed by John’s watchful eye though they cut away to look next at the gouges spanning from just above Greg’s left hip nearly to his right shoulder.

“That’s a fine set you’ve got, Greg. The ladies are going to love the scars.”

“I finally get that special hook to increase my power to pull on a Saturday night and the only ladies in the vicinity are of the piscine or avian variety.”

“You have anything against mermaids?”

“They all seem so young and spry. Think they have a few mature ones who’d be content with a scratched up old copper living with a tetchy housemate?”

“Bring a courtship gift. Something nice.”

“I _do_ have an eye for flowers.”

“That’s a good start.”

As Greg laughed softly, with a bit more strength than before, John examined the cuts on his back and rummaged in his kit for some cleaning supplies, sutures and bandages.

“A few of these are going to need a stitch or two tucked in, but you’re lucky it’s not worse.”

“Oddly, I don’t feel lucky. I feel like I picked up a cat who didn’t want to be picked up and decided to make that very clear to me in a flurry of pain, blood and screams.”

“Your fish-tailed maiden will kiss things and make them better, just don’t forget the flowers. In all seriousness, though, these are going to sting for awhile but I’ll leave you something for the worst of it. What’s the story with your arm?”

Right now, Greg decided he’d take painkillers over a fish-tailed maiden, no doubt about it, even if she had a very liberal view about sex with those not precisely of her species. Especially with this sodding arm, which was scolding him louder than his cat scratches and that was saying a lot.

“I grabbed Mycroft to try and stop him leaving, but he pushed me away and my shoulder got a bit twisted.”

“Lucky again, since they can snap an arm like a twig when they’ve a mind for it. This is going to hurt a little, but I’ll make things as quick as possible.”

John moved Greg’s arm around making note of Greg’s responses and what he was already seeing for swelling and bruising.

“Congratulations, you’ve sprained yourself.”

“Do I get a trophy?”

“You get some happy meds, a prescription for ice and rest, but I think you can avoid the fun of a sling if you think you can keep to the ‘rest’ part of your prescription and not do any appreciable lifting with that arm until the swelling and pain are in the distant past.”

“I can do that. Probably. It depends on what extra care Mycroft is going to need after this.”

“Truthfully, I doubt he’s done much to himself that’s harmful. At least, owing to you getting him out of the water and warmed up in short order. He’ll be a bit weak for a day or so, but I didn’t see any immediate signs of trouble. I _will_ give him a thorough examination, though, to be certain. It’s not uncommon, you know. A lot of our Visitor friends decide to try an escape even when they know about the security measures, but I admit that most don’t just fly full speed into them.”

“He was fast, too.”

“I’ve never seen them fly in person, but I’ve seen video and it’s pretty incredible. At least he’s got a nice big area to fly in, though, once he’s back in the air again.”

Greg sat a moment and thought about Mycroft flying. It had been a grand sight and he hoped he’d have many chances to see it again. Despite everything, it had been clear, just so clear, that Mycroft was happy. Admittedly, he thought he was making his getaway, but that wasn’t all of it. The freedom to soar was a part of that, too. A big part.

“Ok, I’m going to start cleaning these cuts and stitch up those that need it. I’ll give you a local to numb the area, so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable, but let me know if it hurts too much and I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks, John. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Hopefully not too often, though.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed. Will you be handling the… general medical things… for us or are you just the emergency man?”

“Consider me your private physician but without the large payment demands that follow. Regular health checks, giving you poultices and tinctures when you’ve been cursed by witches, that sort of thing.”

“Good to know! This region seems ripe for foul witches and their dirty deeds.”

“Charm them with your flowers.”

“I like the way you think.”

__________

Sitting hurt. Standing hurt. Walking hurt.

Breathing hurt. Drinking coffee hurt. Scratching his nose hurt.

There seemed to be a pattern forming.

Greg sighed and set down the cup of coffee he’d slowly and painfully birthed from the kitchen and wondered if he should do a bit of walking about again. John had cautioned him that between his injuries and overexerting himself with his daring rescue he was going to be a sad, tortured soul for a couple of days, but to keep some simple movement going to prevent his muscles from stiffening too much and truly adding to his agony. He’d almost asked for whatever it was John gave Mycroft so he’d stay asleep for the rest of the day, but decided that one completely insensible person in the house was quite enough. Someone had to remain vigilant for unexpected surprises. What if the foul witches descended with their curse! Hate to drag John out here again with a smelly poultice when the man was probably happily asleep and dreaming whatever doctors dreamed about after a long day of tincture making and rolling bandages.

Though the current situation might be changing, if the small noises Greg heard coming from Mycroft’s bedroom were to be believed. With the swiftness of an arthritic earthworm, Greg rose from his chair and crossed to Mycroft’s bedroom door to have a peek inside.

“Grob? Spying again…”

The peek did not bring joy.

“You know that’s not my name and you’re a bastard for saying it, especially after today.”

Mycroft’s scowl held no real heat and there was a little something in it that almost convinced Greg he wasn’t the one being scowled at.

“It is you, _Gregory_. Come to mock your prisoner?”

Greg stepped further into the room, feeling a little woozy from the blast of heat, but relieved that Mycroft was awake, coherent and not howling in pain.

“Come to check on my idiot housemate who just had to do the most stupid thing in the world today to prove he _was_ an idiot.”

Mycroft made a motion that Greg suspected had been an attempt at a flick of his wrist, but it failed so spectacularly that it was difficult to be certain. Still weak and woozy, then…

“I attempted to escape this prison. That is a predictable action, not an idiotic one.”

Too bad his mouth still worked a treat despite the weak wooziness.

“It’s idiotic if you can’t see! If you could, I’d have already pointed out why trying to fly away like a bird on the wing was a stupid idea. There’s these sensors, see, and if you’re trying to pass the perimeter, they trigger a fucking unhappy, for you, response. Supposedly if you get close, you start to feel tingling and know not to press on, but you had to fly full speed at the bloody thing and hit before noticing. Nicely done.”

“You should have fully informed me of the terms of my incarceration.”

“I… you were just starting to be not such a bastard and I didn’t want to smack you right back into Mr. Mopey mode. Yes, there’s a containment field around our house. It’s fuck all massive and there’s all the room you could want for walking, swimming or flying. Though, let’s keep the swimming to a minimum for a week or so, what say, because I can’t drag you out of the water right now if you get a cramp and start to drown. Again.”

This didn’t even raise a scowl, just firmed Mycroft’s lips into a tight, flat line, as if he was trying to keep something from flying out of his mouth that he’d regret.

“And, yeah, you would’ve drowned, most likely. Face down in the sea, completely senseless, but aren’t you lucky you’ve got someone who actually cares if you live or die and was willing to row out to your stupid body and fish you out of the water. With, I might add, a fucked shoulder and a back leaking blood like a punctured balloon. Thanks for those, by the way. Very nice bit of gratitude for doing my level best to keep you comfortable and cared for. Kill me and fly away without a second thought. A lovely farewell message. Really, I feel so fucking appreciated and special.”

Greg watched as Mycroft slowly raised a weary arm and let his claws extend to something quite longer and more lethal-looking than Greg had seen before. Those weren’t what he’d been attacked with. Not even close.

“If I had wanted you dead, Gro… Gregory, you _would_ be.”

It wasn’t much, Greg thought, but it was something.

“You just wanted me… what, then?”

“I sought a few moments of distraction to forestall you alerting your military.”

“Well, your distraction had a doctor stitching up my back like my mum mending a torn shirt and my shoulder will be a mess for days.”

“As I said, a distraction. Nothing more.”

“A painful nothing more!”

“Pain is a fleeting thing.”

This time it was Greg scowling and doing a tremendous job of it. He was tired, in pain and his frustration was boiling over to the point where he couldn’t keep the lid on the pot.

“Maybe, but it was still utterly horrible of you. I’m trying, Mycroft, I’m trying my hardest to make this situation as agreeable as possible for you and you delight in kicking me in the face day in and day out. No, I can’t understand what it feels like to be in your shoes right now, I know that, but I _can_ recognize when a person is being a shit simply because they’re enjoy it. Simply because they like causing hurt and making someone else feel like rubbish. I know you’re not happy here, Mycroft. Nobody sensible would be. And, if there was a way to toss you back to your own world, I’d do it myself. But, there isn’t. There isn’t a way for that to happen and this is the best we can offer. A home, someone to keep you company, all the amenities you could want and room to fly. I’m sorry you’re here, Mycroft. Sorry that whatever creates the portals swept you up and now you can’t go home. I _am_ sorry. I wish more than anything for it to be different, but it’s not and it can’t be. So, I’d appreciate it, it would mean a lot to me, if you just tried once in awhile not to be so fucking awful and remember that I’m not your enemy or your slave. I’m someone who wants to help you and I deserve a bit more than your bile and nasty insults day in and day out.”

Greg walked forward and sat on the edge of Mycroft’s bed contemplating what was going through the Visitor’s mind and recognizing that he probably couldn’t fathom it if he tried.

“My eyes. Were they further damaged?”

Not surprising that Mycroft wasn’t going to address a single bit of that, but some small gesture would have been nice. However, Mycroft _wasn’t_ nice, so…

“No, they weren’t. Or, at least, I should say that nothing seemed amiss when the doctor took a look at them. He said we’d know more once your bandages were off and you could assess the quality of your vision.”

“When can they be removed?”

“Uh… well, Stamford had said tomorrow, which is actually today, now, by the clock, so anytime, I suppose. Luckily, you didn’t lose my sunglasses. The doctor left fresh drops, too, in case the ones in your soggy pocket had water slip in and contaminate them.”

“Very well.”

Mycroft started to rise from the bed and Greg put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Where are you going?”

“I require food and drink. And you will remove my bandages and apply drops.”

“How about you stay in bed and I bring you a tray?”

“No. I am not an invalid.”

And arrogance once again is the watchword of the day. However, Greg couldn’t muster any energy to rebut this trillionth example of pig-headedness, so removed his hand and watched with just a touch of smug amusement as Mycroft slowly got his legs over the side of the bed then took three attempts to stand upright.

“Well done. Very graceful.”

Making a gesture Greg had never seen before but assumed was filthy and rude, Mycroft took a moment to orient himself and started a tottery shamble to the door. A shameful piece of Greg wanted to let him go it alone, but the remaining, and far larger, piece of him ordered his legs to push up upwards and give Mycroft a steadying arm to hold which, surprisingly, the Visitor did without complaint.

“Sitting room or…”

“Table.”

Kitchen table it was, then. The extra few steps were taken in silence and Greg made certain Mycroft was fully seated in a chair before getting him water, then changed his mind and took out a Coke instead, and started wondering how he was going to cut the bread with only one good arm.

“Gregory…”

“Yeah?”

“I… I am sorry I hurt you. I planned the injuries from my claws, and that they would not be lethal, but did not realize that your arm was also hurt. It was unintended. I apologize.”

Greg’s mouth hung open in shock a moment, before he quickly closed it and made the prudent decision not to make too great a show of expressing that shock in audible form.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Anything specific you want to eat?”

“A pie. Or a chicken.”

This time, Greg’s mouth opened to begin a long bout of swearing, then he noticed the tiny smirk on Mycroft’s lips.

“Funny man.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Lovely. Can you slice the bread? I can get a cold sandwich to you quickly or, if you can wait a few minutes, get a pan heating so it’ll be toasty warm for you.”

“Warm.”

“Alright, then. I’ll get the bread knife and…”

“Remove my bandages.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Eat first, why don’t you? That way you’re not distracted by wearing your sunglasses or trying to test how your vision is doing.”

“I am capable of doing all of that simultaneously.”

Mycroft heard Greg’s soft sigh and almost commented but stopped when he felt Greg’s hands working at the bandages with what felt like a small pair of shears.

“Ok, now keep them closed while I remove the gauze pads and get the sunglasses on you. It’s not bright in here, so I don’t think you’ll have any worries on that score.”

Making quick work of the de-bandaging, Greg then retrieved the dark sunglasses and fitted them on Mycroft’s face. After a moment, he helped Mycroft turn his chair around so that he looked towards the opposite wall where it was dimmer still and better for a first look.

“Ok, go ahead.”

Mycroft hesitated a moment, then gradually cracked his eyes open, blinking a few times and taking in the sight before him of their small sitting room, the computer he’d grown accustomed to using and the remains of the fire John had helpfully laid and Greg occasionally fed by tossing on a log when the flames weren’t toasting his bones as fully as he wanted.

“Well?”

“It is… fine. I can see.”

“As good as before?”

“I believe so. It is somewhat difficult to evaluate given the spectacles I am wearing, but I am not displeased with the results so far.”

Greg grinned at the hopeful tone in Mycroft’s voice and felt a genuine surge of happiness for his companion.

“That’s wonderful! I’m thrilled for you, Mycroft, I really am. Later, when the sun’s come up, we’ll see what you can manage for being outdoors. I know you’re anxious to get a good look at what you’ve been hearing and smelling and whatnot out there.”

“Yes… yes, that _is_ something I want.”

His heart pounding in his chest, Mycroft felt almost choked with relief that his sight had been spared any noticeable damage. There might be some diminishment, it was so difficult to tell at the moment, but it would not be enough, not in any manner, to impede him to any appreciable degree.

Turning his chair around to face the table again, Mycroft now looked at the other thing he had wanted to see. His housemate. He stared at Greg, who was busily setting out various items to make their impromptu meal, and analyzed every scintilla of data from Greg’s hair then down his face and body, feeling something stir within him as each new image flooded his eyes.

“You are seriously ill.”

Greg stopped what he was doing and turned his gaunt, slightly hollow-eyed face fully towards Mycroft, giving him a brittle smile as reward for his deduction.

“Dying, actually. That’s the only sort they let into this program. Want cheese on your sandwich? We’ve got a few types. Get a hot, hearty sandwich into you and then we can have a chat. It’s a bit overdue, I imagine…


	14. Chapter 14

Mycroft stared at Greg, who continued on collecting sandwich material, until Greg stopped, but only to make a ‘well, what are you waiting for’ motion towards the bread on the table. Strangely, Mycroft found himself cutting four thick slabs while his brain tried desperately to parse the information he’d just gained.

“All cut on the first try, too! You must be so happy to have your sight back, Mycroft. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. We’ll have to find a way to celebrate. Maybe a good film, one with lots of great effects that make it look utterly amazing. And you can see the computer now! All those cat videos you’ve been listening to will actually make more sense.”

Greg smiled brightly, but it didn’t last given the somewhat stricken expression on Mycroft’s face.

“Yeah, ok. I know I don’t look my most handsome at the moment. It’s been a rough day, though, you have to admit and I won’t lie, it took a lot out of me. And, to be fair, part of why I’m excited about being here, about being chosen for the program, is the opportunity to take better care of myself. Living alone… it’s easy to be a bit careless about things. You don’t bother to cook because it’s such a hassle for one person, so you eat a lot of rubbish that’s fast but not particularly healthy. Exercise is another issue. Not going to join a gym because I know I wouldn’t keep up with it and walking in London… it’s great, really, but not like it is out here where I can really _walk_ , get genuinely fresh air, do a bit of climbing. Swim and row! I knew I’d tend to myself better since I’d have someone else to tend, also. Bit of a win for both of us.”

“Will that change the fact…”

“That I’m dying? No. I’ve got cancer. I thought I had it beat. Did all the various treatments and it did go into remission for awhile. I was back on the job and not just tied to a desk… but, then the doctors found it was back. Had spread, too. I could have tried another round of treatment but… it was so fucking brutal the first time and the doctors said the likelihood of it seeing me cancer-free was laughably low. It would just postpone the inevitable. I did think about it, though. Talked to a few counselors, as well as my doctors, to make certain I wasn’t just being a dumb, pessimistic twat then put my retirement papers in the same day as I applied for this program. It took awhile, though, for a slot to open. And aren’t I lucky, because it won me you! Oh, happy day!”

Greg tried grinning again, but it fell as flat the first attempt. And it hurt. Not just for him, but for the man in front of him because there was a large conversation looming and this wasn’t good tidings it would go even remotely well. Not that it should, of course.

“Mycroft…”

“You chose servitude to end your days?”

“Not servitude. The chance to do two things. One, be useful. Productive and make a contribution. I devoted my whole life to that goal and I certainly didn’t want to bin it just because the old body was failing me. And, two, do something different. Something exciting and new. This was an unbelievable chance to do both of those things and I leapt at it. The end of my story is the same whether I waste away in my flat watching crap telly or take on a new challenge that offers me something rewarding. Something I truly want. There’s not a real choice there, not that I can see.”

Mycroft sat silently, so Greg returned to work on their food, getting the sandwiches in the hot pan not long before Mycroft finally spoke.

“Did they think I would harm you?”

“What?”

“You said only the dying are given this burden. Do they believe your life worthless should I slaughter you?”

“Ummm… I can’t say there’s not some truth to that, because someone healthy with years, decades left to live is a poor trade for someone with… less.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When will you die?”

“A week from Tuesday.”

“WHAT!”

“I’m joking! A bit in poor taste, though, I admit. The truth is I don’t know. There’s no definite timeline for this sort of thing, only a range of possibilities. Could be six months, could be a year. Want another Coke?”

Mycroft made a motion with his head that wasn’t a shake or a nod, so Greg decided that a confused Mycroft with a Coke was probably a happier situation than a confused Mycroft _without_ one, so pulled another from the refrigerator, as well as one for himself. Along with bread, he needed to put loads more of those in the weekly grocery order.

“There… I do not understand this.”

“Which part?”

“You do not have long to live. Does your military simply throw broken human after broken human into my prison? The sheer number is nonsensical. And why… why am I _here_? Why not a cell with others of my people?”

Mycroft was not so confused that he missed Greg freezing in place a second before flipping over their sandwiches.

“It’s late, Mycroft, and we’re both tired. Well, maybe not you because you’ve been asleep all day and half the night, but I’m fucking exhausted and am anxious to begin a torrid love affair with my bed. Let’s have a nice snack, then I’ll show you how to use the telly and the computer, minus the screen reader software, and we can keep on with this discussion tomorrow when we both have some of our energy back.”

“Why are you hesitant about answering my questions?”

“I’m not! But I suspect the conversation is just going to stride off from there and I’m honestly too knackered for that.”

“You are lying.”

“I rowed that fucking boat out in fairly rough waters, dragged your heavy self _into_ the boat and rowed us back, then carried you, _carried_ you, back here to get you warm. Tell me again I’m lying about being knackered from all of that.”

“That was not my meaning. I… I recognize that your efforts were costly to you, more so than I could have predicted. And you have my gratitude for them. However, I do not believe fatigue is the sole reason for your reticence.”

Greg began to plate their food, then changed his mind and put both sandwiches on one plate and set it in front of Mycroft.

“Eat those and… we’ll talk.”

Knowing Mycroft’s eyes were on him and that the Visitor would surely eat with his typical speed, Greg walked into Mycroft’s bedroom and took out a heavy long coat Mycroft had yet to wear, as well as thick slippers and hat. Then he secured a jacket and scarf for himself and, seeing his predictions were correct and the food on Mycroft’s plate had already disappeared, motioned for Mycroft to stand take the coat, hat and slippers he’d dropped into one of their armchairs.

“Let’s sit outside, ok? It’s a bit nippy, but the wind is down and it’s clear so the sky is beautiful to see.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and studied Greg but finally nodded and rose, moving to dress for outdoors then paused seeing Greg struggle with his jacket and took it from him to help Greg into it as well as wrap the scarf around his neck.

“Thank you.”

“I could not abide your inevitable complaints and exaggerated moans of agony.”

“I had a few exceptional ones practiced, too. Oh well, I’ll save them for a more opportune time.”

It took only a moment for Mycroft to dress for the cold though, after a moment’s hesitation, he stepped back into his bedroom and returned with even heavier socks than he’d been dressed in after his shower.

“Perfect! Let’s go. It really is a gorgeous night.”

Mycroft didn’t return Greg’s encouraging smile, but followed him out to the bench which Mycroft normally claimed as his own.

“See? Look at all of those stars. You don’t see stars like that in London. Do you? For your home, I mean?”

Looking briefly at Greg, Mycroft then turned his eyes upwards to take in the very unfamiliar, but admittedly lovely, expanse of stars above him.

“Yes. Many nights, also, you can see a swirling mass of colors that are most… soothing. Almost hypnotic. And, depending on the time, one or both moons.”

Greg wasn’t sure which shocked him more. The two moons or the fact that Mycroft easily divulged that information about his home.

“You have two moons!”

“Three, actually. One, however orbits at precisely the speed of the planet itself so it seems to remain motionless. It is not visible from my region.”

And more information! The poor man must be very off-footed. Unfortunately, that was not primed to change much in the next few minutes.

“That’s incredible. And auroras. I wish I could see it.”

“Step through one of your infernal portals.”

“We don’t create them. We… if none opened again, we’d be thrilled, actually.”

“Why? Do you weary of our capture?”

“No. Or yes, actually. You don’t think much of us; you’ve never hidden it. Yet, you’re given quality medical treatment, as much as you want to eat, entertainment of various sorts.. and all of that while you were in hospital! Now you’re given a cottage with the most beautiful view imaginable, and access to everything you want to learn, whatever you want to watch, read or listen to. Yes, there’s a security barrier, but it’s so enormous you can fly over the sea, the cliffs, the land behind us. Soar all day. Why do you think you’re treated so well? You’re right in that we’re not the nicest species, all things considered. We’ve done fucking horrible things and treating people not like us certainly sits high on that list. So why? Why didn’t they just finish what they started when they blasted you out of the sky?”

There was a sad amusement in Greg’s voice that worried Mycroft more than his question.

“I have no idea.”

“See that?”

Greg pointed down to the bit of sandy beach that the bench looked over.

“Yes. Finally.”

Laughing softly, Greg nodded and looked again into the sky.

“And you’ll get to see it in the daylight soon enough. Anyway… it wasn’t always there.”

Mycroft cocked his head at Greg who was still looking up at the sky and tried to fathom the expression on his companion’s face.

“This isn’t the first cottage on this site. There was another. With one of your people. There’s lots of them, actually. Well, not lots, that’s not the right word. There’s more than this one. Isolated stretches by the ocean are the most common places, by far, to find them. You see, it’s important to keep your lot away from inhabited areas.”

“You fear us.”

“Absolutely. The general public for some fairly colorful reasons; you said you’d seen some of the insulting fiction bandied about. But, there are other reasons. The fiction-reading public isn’t so aware of those.”

“Tell me.”

It took a long time for Greg to say anything and Mycroft felt an unease rise in him as he watched the emotions play over Greg’s haggard, moonlit face.

“We don’t open the portals. We don’t know how to open them, close them or control what goes through. When your people started coming, it caused a lot of fear. A lot of panic. When one of you was captured, it _was_ a cell you were tossed into. You’re a hard lot to kill, especially with the weapons at the time. But nobody had a problem taking the evil step of torture and some truly terrible things that happened eventually did kill your people. Which was a very, very bad idea…”

Greg ran his hand through his hair and Mycroft made note of the wince of pain that prompted a small motion of Greg’s shoulders to settle something in his back, which did not make Mycroft feel particularly proud or satisfied.

“What happens to your people when you die, Mycroft?”

That was not, in any manner, a question Mycroft had been anticipating.

“I… we die.”

“After that.”

“Are we discussing… religion?”

“No, I mean physically.”

“You desire details of decomposition? Our burial rituals?”

“ _Is_ there something to bury?”

“I… yes. Gregory, I am utterly at a loss for what you are attempting to say.”

“I know. I know…”

This time, Mycroft felt his heart clench seeing a tiny shine in Greg’s eyes that had nothing to do with happiness.

“Nobody knows why and… well, we can’t really try to find out. In any case… your people aren’t well-suited for living here, Mycroft. Something… something is toxic… lethal… for your people. Something in the air, the water… nobody knows what. The sad truth is you’re dying, too. Not like me, slowly fading away, but you _are_ dying. The time will come when it’s your turn to go. Could be before me or after. It’s not something anyone’s been able to predict. It’ll just happen, with little or no warning. That, in and of itself, the dying part, I mean, is bad enough. But… when the time finally comes, something happens. Again, we don’t know and can’t really do anything to fathom it out. When you die here, there’s some reaction that… your body decomposes, fast, into vapor. A relentlessly caustic vapor that eats through everything it contacts. Everything and everyone. And I’m not talking about taking out a room. I’m talking completely destroying an entire prison and everybody in it. Devastating a village, all the buildings, people and land for blocks in every direction. They tried putting your people in underground facilities and that only meant we created enormous holes in the earth as you ate through everything around _and_ above you. They even put you below mountains like some super villain! Those mountains don’t exist anymore.”

It wasn’t actually possible for Mycroft’s brain to go offline, but he’d never felt so close to that imaginary status as he did right now.

“You’re not tortured, because you might die and take everybody and everything with you. You get skilled care so you survive until they can get you to a place that’s… safe. Again, nobody knows why, but the reaction that eats through stone, metal, glass… people… dies out when exposed to open air. Sky, sun… something dwindles it to being harmless. They tried to replicate those conditions in a facility and failed every time they tried. It’s like only Mother Nature herself knows the secret and she’s not willing to share. There _was_ a cottage here, closer to the water. Someone like you lived there and died at home. All they destroyed was the cottage and a measure of the ground beneath. And, now, there’s a beach…”

Mycroft stared at the sandy expanse, noting how far below them it was and how wide.

“And… did they have someone…”

“Living with them? Oh yes. They died, too. That’s the thing, you see. If you go first, you might take me with you. Maybe not, if you’re flying or far enough away outdoors, but the odds don’t particularly lean that way. If I go first, they’ll place another person with you for the duration. It’s not the common situation, but it _does_ happen. Fixed end for me, you see? I’m dying no matter what, so it’s not a scary situation or something to dread. I see you’re properly cared for, keep you company. We don’t know if that helps you last or not, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. And when we go, they’ll build another cottage ready for occupancy. And the beach will be larger.”

Greg wiped his eyes and gave Mycroft a sidelong smile. No matter what anyone else might think he was happy here. He’d been happy the moment they assigned him to Mycroft and right now, simply could not be happier. Despite the various shitty things that had occurred, this was a dream come true and that wasn’t something everyone could boast of achieving as their days grew short.

“I…”

Never once had Greg seen Mycroft look helpless and it wasn’t a sight he particularly enjoyed seeing now.

“It’s a lot, I know. There’s no good or right time to discuss these things and I certainly wasn’t going to mention it until we knew more about your eyes because that certainly was enough for you to manage at the time. As soon as the bandages came off, I wagered that we’d talk about _me_ fairly quickly because I’m looking a touch rough, though I’ll bounce back a little in a few days, I suspect. About you, though… when is the right moment? There probably _is_ one that experts could point to, but I certainly don’t know it. So, here we are. In the same place, in more ways than one. I wish I could change things for you, Mycroft. I’d do anything I could to make that happen, if it was possible. The best I can offer is to make your time here something you don’t absolutely hate. I know that’s not much, but whatever I can do to make you happy, I _will_ do.”

Staring out over the water, Mycroft tried desperately to control the raging thoughts in mind but his normally-ironclad will and command of himself was failing spectacularly. He had expected many things coming here and death _did_ hold a place on that list, however… not like this. And, in truth, he felt certain that whatever the humans did to try and bring _about_ his death he could counter. He could endure their tortures, avoid the lethality of their weapons, outmaneuver their attempts at securing his capture… nothing in his expectations, regardless of their practicality or… arrogance… prepared him for this.

“I… I desire a walk.”

“Oh. That’s an excellent idea. Your slippers should be fine and it _is_ a beautiful night for a stroll.”

Nodding slightly, Mycroft rose from the bench, then stood looking around him a second or two before turning left to begin walking along the edge of the drop down to the beach. After a moment he stopped and turned back to Greg, who was still sitting and watching him leave.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You said a walk was an excellent idea.”

Greg’s brows furrowed then a smile broke out on his lips.

“You want me to come with you?”

“I may find items of interest I wish to examine later. You will carry them for me.”

“Got it. I make the sandwiches and I carry the shells, bits of wood and nice rocks.”

“I am happy you finally recognize your obligation to my august person.”

“My head’s thick. It took awhile to sink in.”

Mycroft sniffed in what Greg thought a genuinely regal fashion and the former DI didn’t waste a second getting to his feet and walking over to join the evening constitutional.

“I do not anticipate I shall journey far, porter, so there will be no reason to wail your complaints about fatigue or the tenderness of your feet.”

“Thank you, sir. Very kind of you, sir.”

Doffing his imaginary cap, Greg grinned and started forward at Mycroft’s side to breathe a little night air and let his housemate begin to grapple with the enormity of the news he’d received. There would probably be more conversations along this line in the days to come, but this was a good start. A good start was far, far better than a bad one and they’d had enough bad today to last for quite awhile, thank you very much…


	15. Chapter 15

Greg predicted that Stamford would catch wind of their little escapade, probably sooner than later, so wasn’t surprised when his phone began ringing soon after he woke up. Not that he woke early, because fuck that, but it did show some admirable restraint on Stamford’s part to get the details of their boating adventure.

“… so that’s where we stand now. We didn’t talk much on our walk and when we were back I scarcely had the energy to get Mycroft set up with the computer and give him a better tour of the kitchen and food-making tools before falling face first on my bed.”

“It had to happen sometime, of course, but I wish it hadn’t come on the heels of such a brutal awakening about the security perimeter. I read John’s report… how are you, Greg? And don’t be a brave bastard on my account.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m a bit crap at the moment, actually. Not more than I would expect, though. My back is a mess, though if I’m careful about how I move, it’s not too bad. My shoulder is more of an issue, but still not debilitating. Mycroft’s shown he’ll step in and help if I need it, so that’s a positive outcome of all of this. And he was sorry for it. Not my back, since he planned that, the prick, but he did make certain not to flay me completely open so, again, there’s some positive things to take from the situation. John said not to worry about any of it, just take care and use the meds when I need them. And my energy will bounce back. A few days of rest and I’ll be good as new on that front. Or as good as I was before the front was stormed by enemy troops.”

“Good to hear that Mycroft recognized your condition and his role in it. You two are going to be seeing a lot of each other in the coming days and it would be a shame if you did nothing but snarl and sulk. Now, it’s Mycroft’s turn for some doctorly concern. How is he managing the news?”

“On the outside, perfectly fine. He was dumbfounded, at first, but packed that away and now it’s as if nothing’s changed. At least, that’s what he’s trying to project. I can catch glimpses of something behind his eyes, though. He’ll have a quiet moment and I can tell things are weighing on his mind. I’m not sure what I should do for him but be there if he wants to talk about it.”

“That may be all you _can_ do, Greg. Just be there if he’s ready to talk and do what you can to show you’d welcome the conversation. And don’t forget yourself in all of this. Yes, you’re contracted to tend to his needs, but that doesn’t mean to the exclusion of your own.”

“I won’t forget.”

“Good! All in all, I’d say it was a successful moment and I have no doubt you can weather whatever squalls might erupt from it in the future. I doubt he’ll act on it, but tell Mycroft that he’s always free to talk to me about anything and… did he get a chance to meet John?”

“No, he was living in a dream world the whole time John was here.”

“See what you can do to make that happen sooner than later. Given your, sad to say, enforced housing situation, he might feel more comfortable discussing certain topics with someone he doesn’t see day in and day out. For Mycroft, I suspect that won’t be the case, but make it plain that _is_ an option he can pursue.”

‘I will. John will be by today, I think, to check on him, so that can be taken care of quickly enough. What he’ll make of our Doctor Watson I don’t know, but _I_ like him. Seems a decent chap, not aloof and standoffish like some doctors I’ve met.”

“I’ve known John Watson since medical school days. He _is_ a decent chap, but don’t let that fool you. He’s also an utter bastard and cheats at darts.”

“I shall keep that very much in mind. And now, of course, I am planning a darts championship because I’m a rather talented cheater myself.”

“I suspected nothing less. Given my worries are now laid to rest, I’ll bid you adieu. Keep me up to date on how it’s going, alright?”

“I’ll stay in touch.”

“Good. Now go and be lazy.”

Greg laughed that the line went dead after that and relished that he _could_ go and be lazy. Could do anything he wanted and enjoy his day to the fullest. And, since Mycroft was on his favorite bench, enjoying some music or whatnot, the fullest could now fully begin…

__________

Mycroft sat quietly, almost motionless, absorbing the sight of his new environment, albeit through the shade of protective eyewear. No, it was not nearly as colorful and dynamic as his own home, but the same primal pull of nature surrounded him as when he took a small moment for himself to simply… be. Fortunately, he had been left alone soon after the night’s walk and had the rest of the night and daybreak to focus purely on his own thoughts, which were both troubling and hopeful, depending on he chose to view matters.

He lacked time. For both his own life and for any hope of rescuing those who might remain alive on this wretched planet. He had thought time was his ally here, but he was tragically incorrect and he certainly would not waste a moment of it weeping or falling into a proverbial pit of despair. There was no time for that. There never was for a king, no matter how crushing might feel the circumstances. He had to strategize, slot this new information into his mental framework and reconfigure any existing ideas to accommodate the abbreviated timeline. Nothing less was acceptable.

The portals. The humans could not control them, but Sherlock had opened one intentionally. He and his brother _did_ have a contingency plan in the event the portal was not as stable as predicted and that was to open portals on a timed basis to return through. However, they were to be opened at the original location and he had no idea where that might be. And… there had been worry on Sherlock’s part that an unstable portal could have additional instability permitting one-way passage only. That there might be no way to return even if a portal could be opened on command.

The proximal concern was could he escape this place. Unknown. He must learn more about the security measures and that could be difficult. Now that his sight was restored, however, he had more options for scrutinizing his environment for physical devices or studying whatever information he might find on the computer. Humans, it seemed, did greatly enjoy discovering that which governments and such did not _want_ discovered and possessed a diversity of tools for achieving such discoveries. They seemed most manageable, at first encounter, and now that he was in possession of all his senses, he would make greater study of them, especially those tools and techniques for breaching complex and protected computer systems. There appeared a system, somewhat logically based, for providing directions to these computers and it would not take long to master them.

Plan as it currently stands - See who remained of his people and where they were located. Find ways to circumvent the security of this, albeit somewhat pleasant, prison. Learn location of original portal opening and make way to that location. Await Sherlock’s opening of another portal. If his brother could. And if it permitted a return. If only he could communicate with him! Send a message or receive some word of progress. Another thing he must investigate. Though he had no particular idea what to investigate or how. Especially given…

“Ever the spy, Gregory.”

“I’m just looking out at the water. Not my fault if your big head is in the way.”

“My head is not large. It is appropriately sized for my body.”

“If you say so. I was about to get on with enjoying my day to its fully fullest and wanted to know if there was anything you needed before I got to it.”

“A means both to escape and remain alive.”

Your tone’s not grave, Mycroft. Almost teasing. Ok, I can go with that…

“Oh, well, glad you’re not asking for anything difficult. How about a cup of tea while I conjure up a genie who can grant wishes?”

“We have no tea.”

“We have two full boxes.”

“Had.”

“What did you do?”

“Simply prepared cups of tea to a strength that I found more agreeable than your limp and insipid brew.”

“How many bags per cup, Mycroft.”

“A few. Four.” 

“That’s an insult to… everything!”

“I disagree. I, for example, was not insulted in the slightest.”

“Lovely. So, I’ve got to quadruple our order of bread, Cokes and tea.”

“And jam.”

“Bloody marvelous.”

“Potatoes, also.”

“How could you have eaten all the potatoes?”

“Your electromagnetic cooking device. Potatoes are most palatable with butter and salt. We also require more butter.”

“No salt?”

“Enough remains in the container to satisfy me through this round of provisioning.”

“Oh my god. You are incorrigible.”

“And, now, I am peckish.”

“For what? We’re got nothing to eat but dirt and air!”

“If that is your preference, do not let me stop you. I, however, shall have the slabs of meat in the icebox and biscuits.”

“Slabs of… no. You are not cooking those gorgeous filets I’m saving for tomorrow.”

“Very well. You prepare them while I eat biscuits.”

“It’s ten in the morning!”

“How is that relevant to meat? Or biscuits?”

Greg stooped and picked up four rocks, firing each rapidly, but gently, at Mycroft’s back, feeling both peeved and delighted that Mycroft’s reflexes were fast enough to catch each one of them, even when he was looking in completely the opposite direction.

“How in the world do you do that?”

“Superiority.”

“Pfft. Seriously, how?”

Mycroft waved flippantly over his shoulder and Greg made a rude noise, adding in a little extra spittle on principle.

“Be that way, then, devil man. It won’t get you any meat though. Not until lunch, that is. No… no, I take that back. A nice vegetarian lunch, something light and healthy, sounds wonderful. Might do the same for dinner, too. Can’t be hearty since we don’t have potatoes, but I can do something, I suspect, with celery, radishes and a bit of parsley. Yum!”

Mycroft rose, spun in highly balletic manner, strode to the cottage, lifted Greg bodily from his position in the open door, continued to stride to the refrigerator, extracted the two filets, thought a moment, sprinkled a little salt on each and consumed them raw with a thoughtful expression while he chewed.

“Not quite as appetizing as when hot, I have no doubt, but acceptable as a small measure to bide the hours until lunch.”

“That… oh you bastard. One of those was for me.”

“Would you like it returned?”

“You are the evilest bit of evil in the entire world. The yuckiest, too. That was just gross to watch, so you know.”

“Food is food.”

“Fine, then. I officially am only cooking for myself and you can make do with whatever you grab cold and raw from the cupboard or refrigerator.”

“I prefer a variety of choice in my daily meals. Your reluctance to consume raw flesh is not a black mark against _me_.”

“You can’t blame your yuckiness on me, Mycroft.”

“A bit of flesh, a bit of blood… now and again the purer forms are a delectable diversion.”

“Still yucky.”

“I am now of a mind that you are more concerned that it is _you_ who are unpalatable and ashamed of the fact.”

“What?”

“You taste… yucky… and are both humbled and humiliated by such a truth.”

“I do not taste yucky!”

“How do you know?”

“I… I’ve tasted my own blood before. It wasn’t… ok, yeah, that was yucky, but…”

“My point is proven.”

“No! When I was a lad I’d… no, this isn’t a conversation that needs furthering.”

“But, further it we will. Continue.”

“Look, kids do stupid things like eat earwax or what they pick out of their nose all the time and that’s just life.”

“A rather disgusting life.”

“You just ate two large hunks of cold meat!”

“If you are so desperate to prove your point…”

Mycroft gestured to Greg’s good arm, which in no manner made clear what he was talking about. At least to Greg.

“Why are you pointing at me?”

“I want your arm.”

“For what?”

Mycroft’s sharp-tooth smile was suddenly the most worrying thing Greg had ever seen and he’d been visited once by the tax collectors to discuss a mistake with his paperwork.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.”

“Why not? All I desire is a little taste.”

“Of me!”

“A drop or two of fresh blood. What harm could that do?”

“What if you like it and decide to keep on with the rest of my arm like you did the filets?”

“I am not that hungry at the moment.”

“It’s the ‘at the moment’ bit that bothers me. You get hungry a _lot_.”

“You assume you shall taste sufficiently delicious that I would even want to consume my fill.”

“I have no doubt I taste delicious. Not to me, maybe, but you seem the sort to prize a morsel of manflesh in your mouth. Ok, that came out wrong…”

“I fail to see why. I most likely _would_ and we shall start with a mouthful of yours.”

“Nope! Hey!”

Mycroft had snatched Greg’s arm, though with a surprising gentleness and used one of his sharper teeth to make a small prick in a thin region of skin on Greg’s hand. The few drops of blood that welled up were quickly licked away while Greg glowered and tried not to show both how insulted he was and how ragingly curious the whole business was making him. Especially when Mycroft stepped back and stared somewhat pensively at the hand that had fallen back to Greg’s side.

“Mycroft?”

“Hmmmmm…”

Greg cocked his head, then a sour feeling began to swirl in his stomach.

“Oh… Don’t worry, Mycroft. You can’t catch cancer that way. That’s not how it works. It’s not like food poisoning or a cold.”

“I know that. I researched the condition while you slept.”

“You did? That’s… ok, then. No worries about that on your part, so what _is_ bothering you?”

“I am not bothered.”

“Why are you staring still staring at my hand?”

“Merely thinking.”

“There’s not a lot to think about with my hand. Five fingers attached to a fleshy paddle at the end of my arm.”

“Your blood.”

“It’s tasty, isn’t it? Told you.”

“No.”

“No, I’m not tasty?”

“No, my thoughts do not concern the agreeability of your flavor.”

“Then what?”

Mycroft pursed his lips slightly, then turned and stalked back outside, taking a seat on his bench, however, Greg noticed that he took a seat on _one_ side of the bench, leaving the other side open. After a moment’s hesitation, Greg walked out and sat down, staying quiet while Mycroft gazed at the ocean until the Visitor was ready to speak.

“You have asked me why I know certain words, but not others.”

“The Polka Dot Conundrum.”

“If you wish. In any case… we have had a few humans enter our world through the portals. Never many and not for quite some time.”

“Oh… I… I’m not sure if we actually knew that.”

“I have found no indication that humans are aware of this, though there is speculative fiction concerning the possibility. In any case… they did not fare well on our world. It is not the same as you describe for our people here, but a much longer period of… unwell. Wasting slowly as if nothing on my world could adequately sustain them. They could linger years, quite a few, in fact, but eventually perished. That being said, they were cared for, in a fashion. It was highly evident that a single human posed no threat whatsoever to us, so extreme measures were not required to keep them secure and… many found some measure of happiness while their life ebbed away. For these individuals, however, we did take great pains to learn from them what we could, including your language…”

Mycroft made a ‘and there you have it’ gesture and a light went on in Greg’s mind.

“But you couldn’t learn words they didn’t know.”

“Correct. We have not had a human on our world in a very long time and our vocabulary is, therefore, somewhat lacking for various areas. In any case… your people regard mine as savage and I cannot wholly discount the perception. We have a violent history, but your people can claim the same. We still tend towards violence and savagery when confronted or challenged, something, again, your people can boast. But, we can also be compassionate. Show concern for another. The humans… we did try to help them. To learn what prevented them thriving and to assist when they took ill or were injured.”

Mycroft was silent again, but Greg didn’t push. Some things you had to come to in your own time.

“I had hoped that some of the treatments we devised for their care might be beneficial for you. Our medical science is advanced from yours and I am not unaware of what can and cannot be accomplished through it. From what I know from your blood, however… they shall not. Not that I had a way, likely, to affect any of those treatments, but…”

If my brother could have thrown appropriate medicines through a portal…

“… I no longer feel they are possible even if they could be implemented with materials on hand. I am sorry, Gregory.”

Greg didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“You… you’d hoped to cure me?”

“Cure? I do not know. Purchase more time, perhaps.”

“But… Mycroft, when you go, I do, too, most likely.”

“It is not my intention to ‘go.’ I still intend to escape here. This place and this world.”

Greg stared open mouthed at the man next to him, not sure which piece of this conversation was confusing him more, that Mycroft still thought he could escape or that Mycroft had wanted to help him in some way. Both were equally baffling.

“You can’t. I’m sorry, Mycroft, but the security field goes in all directions. You can’t swim under it or dig a tunnel either. Sensors know you’ve reached the perimeter and _will_ respond.”

“Regardless, I will discover a way.”

Greg smiled at the adamancy of Mycroft’s tone and decided it really didn’t matter if Mycroft continued to try, just as long as he didn’t harm himself in the process.

“Well, you let me know how that goes. Besides that, though… thank you. For thinking of me, I mean.”

“You did not have to spare my life in the water. In fact, matters would have been better for you, in a sense, if I simply drowned, as you would no longer be under threat of my dissolution.”

“So, it was just a bit of repayment?”

There was that silence again. Greg could meet that silence easily enough with some of his own and did so until Mycroft finally answered.

“Not entirely. There is a measure of character to be noted for a person who acts to save the life of another, even though it might bring themselves to harm. And… though it sours my mouth to say it, you have not been unkind to me when, at times, I was not entirely deserving of kindness. Ultimately, it amounts to naught as I cannot assist you with your condition.”

“It’s… it’s not for naught, Mycroft. That actually means a great deal to me. There’s value in that. A lot of it.”

“I care not.”

Was that a smirk? Greg laughed at the slight upturn of Mycroft’s lips and wondered if their little incident might actually have been a more beneficial thing than his body told him to believe.

“You lying fucker. But, I suppose I’d best get used to the lies as I’ll be suffering them for awhile.”

“Until I escape.”

“I don’t know how. They don’t even tell _me_ anything about the security system beyond it’s there and it’s not a happy thing for you to try and get through it.”

“Be that as it may, I _will_ find a method of circumventing it.”

There was something new threading into Mycroft’s voice that was different than simple resolve and Greg had no notion of what that could be, though he didn’t feel he should leave the matter alone.

“Why, Mycroft? When the military learns you’ve escaped, they’ll just hunt you down and bring you back. It’s too big a risk that something happens and lots of people die because you were stopping to steal clothes from a village or swooping down to grab a steak from a butcher’s window in the middle of a city.”

“I simply must.”

_ That _ tone change was now laced with just the tiniest amount of desperation and Greg sensed a shift in the conversational winds approaching.

“I ask again… why? The reasons for you wanting to escape are fairly obvious on the surface, but there’s something more, isn’t there? Something else pushing you. What is it?”

Mycroft turned from looking out over the water to stare Greg in the eyes, something Greg allowed and simply stared back, giving Mycroft the time to read whatever he needed to read _in_ those eyes. Finally, something seemed to click in Mycroft’s mind, as if a matter was settled. Or a decision was made.

“Because I did not come through the portal accidentally, Gregory. I came through it intentionally to rescue those of my people you have imprisoned here.”

Greg’s brain flailed about for something to steady itself, but there wasn’t a handy mental fencepost or wall to provide an assist.

“You… intentionally? Why?”

“Because I am their king and it is my duty.”

“K…king?”

“Yes.”

“Greg? Mycroft? Are you home?”

Greg shot a look at the cottage after hearing John’s voice and looked back at Mycroft who was gazing steadily at him, waiting for Greg , now, to make his own choice. Which, surprisingly for Greg, wasn’t difficult.

“Let’s keep that to ourselves for now, ok?”

“Agreed. We will speak again after you prepare lunch. With meat.”

“You’re a complete and utter bastard.”

“Thank you. I do try.”


	16. Chapter 16

Greg made certain to sport a genial smile after he called for John, then almost laughed when Mycroft growled low and menacing, with a force that made the doctor pause a moment at the rear door of the cottage before stepping further towards them on the bench.

“And hello to you, too. It’s good to finally meet you, Mycroft. When you’re conscious, I mean.”

Mycroft kept his teeth bared as John walked closer, which puzzled Greg until he realized John was wearing a uniform. Mycroft wasn’t too happy about military types…

“Mycroft’s not terribly thrilled about the military, John. Don’t take it personally.”

“Got it. And, for your information, Mycroft, I’m not military, per se. Not anymore. Though I do get the opportunity to wear a bit of the garb now and again. Just minus the…”

John pointed to where his insignia would be and Greg took note, now, of how plain the uniform appeared compared to what he remembered from the chaps he’d met who wore the real deal.

“I’m a type of contractor, now, I suppose. When I processed out of the Army, they still had a need for my medical services, so I thought, why not? A job’s a job and I’d had my fill, in a sense, of being shot at while trying to _provide_ my medical services, so a bit of peace and quiet was a welcome thing.”

Mycroft growled again and Greg found himself laying a hand on Mycroft’s arm to settle the Visitor who was not taking kindly to a member of the military, contractor or not, being on their property.

“I’d love to hear your stories one day, John. I bet you have a lot of them.”

“I have my share. Right now, though, I’m more interested in _your_ stories. Let’s start with how you two are feeling today?”

Looking at Mycroft, it was clear he wasn’t amenable to sharing, so Greg took the conversational mantle again and wore it proudly.

“Mycroft is doing well. No obvious problems left over from our day of fun. I’m doing about as expected. Stingy back and a throbby shoulder that the meds are handling nicely. All in all, I’d say things are moving in the right direction.”

“Good! I’ll want to check you over, of course, but it sounds like time is the best medicine for you at the moment. And a few lovely pain pills.”

“They _are_ staggeringly attractive. I shall embrace that attractiveness as long as I need it.”

“Excellent. We’re not short of them, so why not live as happy and pain free as you can?”

John gave Greg a look that Greg understood, though he wished he didn’t. The cancer wasn’t painful now, but that might not always be the case.

“That is the sort of philosophy I can support! Now, how about our friend here? Anything I should be watching for?”

“Lingering fatigue, aberrant muscle movement, anything unusual, especially with his vision. If you’ve not noticed any of that yet, I doubt you will, but it always plays to keep the eyes open. Mycroft, would you be willing to let me give you a quick check?”

Greg rolled his eyes at Mycroft’s toothy snarl and show of the full extent of his claws, but wondered if Mycroft’s people were territorial by nature and that was driving his housemate’s show of aggression.

“Maybe another day, John. It’s Mycroft’s usual time for some sun and fresh air and I don’t think he wants to interfere with that. You can look at my saggy self all you’d like, though. Fancy a cup of tea while you ogle?”

“Tea and ogling is one of my hobbies, actually. Let’s get to it.”

Greg leaned in and whispered something in Mycroft’s ear, then rose and led John into the cottage, hoping that Mycroft hadn’t actually used _all_ the tea in his overnight orgy.

“Well, I think we can say, Greg, that Mycroft does _not_ like me.”

“He doesn’t know you. To be fair, he’s distrustful of any humans but he does grow accustomed to those he interacts with regularly. Doctor Stamford, for one. Just give him time, John.”

“And you? Besides that dreadful incident, how is he with you?”

“Good, actually. Taken in sum.”

“Meaning?”

“We’re past the point where he’s immediately suspicious of everything I say or do. We’ve had some very good conversations and can joke about, share a pleasant meal or a walk. Bit by bit it’s getting easier to slide past his defenses and get him to be… normal and not standoffish. Actually, he’s fun to talk to, even if he makes me crazy, at times.”

“That’s great to hear. It’s a hard situation, for both of you, so nobody expects instant friendship. And he seemed pretty protective of you, so that’s a positive sign you’re on your way _to_ that friendship, though.” 

“What?”

“Protective. It’s common, from what I understand, with Visitors who make honest personal connections with their companions. Not all do, but some form real friendships with their human housemates and get very protective of them. Nobody’s been particularly willing to explain it; I’m sure you know how secretive they can be, but I’ve always wondered if it was a normal thing they do with their friends and loved ones or if they consider us so bloody weak and puny it’s like being protective of a puppy that wandered into your garden who trips over its own ears and gets startled by sparrows.”

“That’s a nice thing for my ego, John, thanks. Besides, that’s all bollocks.”

“Those nasty claws say otherwise. You’ve got a best friend, Greg. Congratulations!”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“I think it’s not and I have a medical degree to make my opinion count.”

Greg knew he was being poked and his chain was being rattled, but he was only at a point with Mycroft where a conversation could be had without a healthy portion of hissing and growling being added! True, recent events seemed to have softened Mycroft’s views somewhat and he _was_ helping with things a bit more now that this old body was down an arm, but that didn’t mean more than the man had a conscience. Which was something of a surprise in and of itself…

“First, I’ve seen no proof of a medical degree. Second, you’re wrong in the head. I’ve got a loony man prescribing me medication. Probably giving me estrogen instead of painkillers.”

“It’ll help your skin look its youthful best, so stop complaining.”

“Nobody out here but Mycroft to admire my youthful skin and he doesn’t care how I look, so you can still bugger off with your nonsense.”

“Fine. Be that way. You enjoy my gift of glowing epidermis and the universe’s gift of a bosom buddy to go a’frolicking with.”

“Wrongity.”

“I counter with rightity! You’ll realize the truth soon enough and then revenge shall be mine.”

“REVENGE! Step away from him, human, if you value your worthless life!”

Mycroft stood in the doorway of the cottage, eyes gleaming dangerously in support of his claws fully extending to take on the perceived threat. Greg took in the scene and simply shook his head in exasperation. How nice it was that Mycroft had been eavesdropping and was now preparing to take John’s head off at the neck. A typical morning, all things considered. He did an impressive job of filling the door with feral fury, though. A lot of filmmakers had tried it with a lot less success.

“It’s not a serious threat, Mycroft, just a silly joke. Now that you’ve exposed your scurrilous spying, want to come in and join us for tea?”

“No.”

“Just going to go back out there to sit and listen to us with your super-hearing?”

‘Yes.”

“Alright, then. You know, though, you might hear something you don’t like.”

“Thus is my day everyday with you, Grank.”

“Ooh, you bastard. See if I put potatoes in the grocery order after that.”

Mycroft waved Greg off with a maddeningly-impressive flick of the wrist and either didn’t see or chose to ignore Greg’s rude gesture in return. John did, though, and cataloged it as another bit of proof that the housemates were doing a grand job of becoming friends. He’d made that same gesture to Stamford, for example, hundreds of times at college. It always rankled that Stamford returned it in a profoundly filthier fashion, despite the man’s kind eyes and jolly features.

“Greg… don’t be hasty. Consider the ramifications of your tuber embargo.”

“Oh god, John… you’re right. No amount of peevish Grank is worth losing me my fill of potatoes. I really didn’t think that through.”

“Best switch you back from estrogen to painkillers, I think. Must be the pain fuddling the brain.”

“My brain fuddles well enough on its own without help. Speaking of, though, I should get the kettle on and then you can start waving your arms around for whatever magic spell you think will heal those scratches on my back.”

“MAGIC! That is not medicine!”

Oh god. Part two. At least he’s yelling from his bench and not waving his knife-fingers about.

“Joke, Mycroft! Just a joke.”

“A poor one.”

“Wrong. Everybody was laughing.”

“That is a lie. I _can_ hear you, you know.”

“How could I _not_ know? Will you just come in here so I don’t have to shout?”

“Given I already can hear your discussion with distressing clarity, I would propose that shouting is naught but foolish in any case.”

Devil man has a point.

“I like to shout!”

Well, that’s a pleasant sound. Thank you for that, Mycroft. You’re officially two years old.

“Ooh, Mycroft is talented with rude noises, isn’t he?”

“Yes, John… welcome to my life. I mean hell. Welcome to my hell.”

“Some hells are worse. You could be somewhere with bugs the size of your head and enough humidity in the air to make breathing something you need a knife and fork to accomplish.”

“True. I only have one large bug to manage and that’s quite enough for one lifetime.”

That Mycroft strode in and stole Greg’s just-made tea was not something to inspire much surprise. Nor would be Greg having to back outside to retrieve the cup once Mycroft had finished drinking it.

“There’s only one teabag in there! Think you can manage?”

The teabag in question came flying through the air and landed with a splut just inside the cottage door, staring balefully up at both Greg and John who took a moment of silence to commemorate its service. With that done, John gleefully returned to needling his patient with the sharpest sting in his arsenal. Keeping spirits high was a medical necessity!

“Greg… is there something I should know about? You can tell me, you know. I’m a doctor, so if you have questions about your romance with Mycroft, like the how to have sex with a Visitor part, you _can_ ask.”

Mycroft’s growl was loud enough to be heard in Greenland, which made up for Greg staring silently at the merrily grinning doctor.

“You’ve got my number, Greg, so phone me anytime the mood strikes.”

“Funny, John. Very funny.

“I thought so. But, I do recommend nothing particularly acrobatic until your arm heals. At the very least, it might not support you properly _during_ the acrobatics and that would be embarrassing.”

“Stamford was right about you.”

“He said I was a bastard, didn’t he?”

“And that you cheated at darts.”

“True, unfortunately. My signature move is the well-timed sneeze to startle my opponent into a botched throw.”

“That’s a good one. I tend to be a touch more physical.”

“Accidentally stumble into them or knock their arm?”

“Accidentally slosh my pint onto their shoes. Or crotch.”

“Police fight dirty.”

“And proudly so.”

__________

Greg gave John a cheery wave as the good doctor drove away, but mentally heaved a large sigh of relief as the car grew smaller in the distance. Not that he’d hated the visit, quite the contrary. It was like chatting with his team or his mates in London. And those didn’t deliver the benefit of free pain pills! But, Mycroft seemed to be getting edgier as time wore on and there was no telling what he would if that edginess boiled over into something… worse.

“Good. He is gone.”

Speaking of worse.

“What did you expect? You practically chased him away.”

“Pfft.”

“What do you call carving a leg off of that raw chicken WITH YOUR CLAWS and EATING IT whole while staring him in the eye?”

“A snack.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your doctor believes that is the case, yes.”

“We are NOT talking about John’s… deluded sense of humor.”

“You are shouting a great deal. That seems… suspicious.”

“WRONG!”

“I think not. Let us discuss your obvious fascination with sexual matters.”

“Nope. Not allowed. It’s… it’s in the manual.”

“You are a dreadful liar.”

“I am an incredible liar, so if I wanted to, I could have done a lot better job than that!”

“You admit, then, that you were lying.”

“I did no such thing.”

“I believe you did. You are sexually-fixated and, clearly, ashamed of the fact. I see no reason why. I find the matter rather dull but, perhaps, human sexual practices are more intriguing than your computer leads me to believe.”

Mycroft thought Internet porn was dull? That was a bit frightening, actually. What the fuck did they do on his world! NO! That is a path which would remain untraveled. Some information was too dangerous to know.

“How about we return to our previous discussion about you being a king. Which, given _your_ _fixation_ with lying, is very probably not the case.”

Mycroft’s smirk was precisely the sort to convince Greg that lying was not occurring and that he was, despite appearances, in the presence of royalty. Only one thing for it.

“Ok… it’s not even lunchtime, but you’re stuffed with raw chicken, so that’s close enough to say it’s not too early for a drink. Care to join me?”

“We have no tea.”

“We have whisky.”

“That will do.”

Greg stalked into the cottage and had four fingers of whisky, only slightly reluctantly divided between two glasses, ready to set on the small table between the two comfortable chairs near the fire and dropped into the chair he considered ‘his,’ before lifting the closest glass for a very long sip. Mycroft did much the same, though with a stretching of his long legs so his feet could be closer to the fire’s warmth.

“So… a king.”

“Yes. One, in this case, with a rather vital mission.”

“Rescuing your people.”

“Yes.”

“And you had a plan to do that?”

“I… had the intention to accomplish this, yes. I suspected that, should my brother successfully open a portal. I would be able to craft a strategy once I better understood the workings of this world. What little we knew of your people, they were… and are… far less advanced than are we, so…”

“You thought you were smarter than us and your big brain would easily out-think our puny little ones.”

“Correct.”

“Apparently not, because you’re still here.”

“For the moment. That shall not always be the case.”

“I suspect you’ll need more than intentions to get home, though. Something that might, just might, resemble a plan.”

Mycroft took a sip of his whisky, and contemplated Greg’s words, more for the fact that they seemed supportive, or at least accepting, of his idea to escape than for their lightly-teasing tone.

“Plans are simple to craft.”

“They can be buggers to execute, though.”

“I agree. That is why the existence of a plan is not necessarily proof of anything in particular besides one _has_ a plan.”

“That was waggly. In any case, let’s turn back to that king business. Really? You?”

“Why would you disbelieve it?”

“Again… really? You?”

“Your insults are predictable, yet pathetic.”

“It’s not an insult. You just don’t seem very kingly to me. Don’t get me wrong; you’ve got the arrogance and condescension perfected, but there’s all that regal bearing business that’s a touch… lacking.”

“It is not.”

“Oh, but it is. Remember, I’ve seen you in a hospital thingie where your arse hangs out.”

“And it was a noble arse, so your point is immediately disproved.”

“That’s… yeah, ok I’ll give you that one because you’re sitting on a cushion worth being proud of. I give credit where it’s due. I’m not peevish. Like some I could mention, but won’t. His name is Mycroft, though, in case you were wondering.”

“Simply hilarious.”

“It is! But back to the kingly business… how long have you been king?”

The almost relaxed look on Mycroft’s face disappeared and something replaced it that Greg didn’t like one tiny bit.

“Mycroft?”

“I have been king… I have held the throne since my father died.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that. He went peacefully, I hope.”

“He was slain in an attempted coup, dismembered and thrown onto the banquet table with the bodies of his advisors.”

Greg wondered if there was a way to turn time back a few seconds so he could slap his stupid sympathy right out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mycroft. I truly am. That’s a terrible thing, simply terrible.”

“It is in the past.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it less terrible. Or the memories any gentler. I’m almost scared to ask, though, if your mother is alive.”

“She is.”

“Oh… that’s good?”

“The alternative is worse, would you not say?”

“I would say. I would very much say. Ummm… how did she feel about your plan to come here?”

“She… she does not know. Mother has a residence of her own that she prefers to the more official one and is not privy to the day-to-day affairs of state. Or of my life.”

“Ok… that’s normal. Sons live away from their mums and ring her up now and again to satisfy her curiosity about what’s what with their lives.”

The tiniest wisp of a smile appeared on Mycroft’s lips and Greg hoped it would stay there because he really didn’t want his companion dwelling on a painful history. There was enough pain to endure in the present to bring bags full of it with you from the past.

“Mother does expect to be kept informed of any and all details concerning me or my brother. The more scandalous the better.”

“Scandalous! Oh, you know I want to hear those details. The pesky proclamations, treaty signings and crown polishing I can live without, but scandal and salacity are always a treat. Alright, then, get on with it. What was the last report your mum got on you that made you blush? Not that anyone would know, what with you being red already, but maybe you glow or something when you’re filled to the brim with embarrassment.”

“The scandalous tales are associated with my brother, not with me. He provides more than enough for both of us.”

“That’s the job of little brothers, it seems. But there have to be some about you, Mycroft. You can’t say there aren’t because I’ve met you and you’re riddled with scandal-promoting tendencies.”

“Incorrect.”

“You romped about with your arse hanging out of your pinny for everyone to see!”

“And you appreciated it.”

“I… I didn’t say I appreciated it, not like you’re implying with that… _tone_ … so there.”

“From what I gather from your rudimentary information-sharing technology, such ardently-expressed appreciation is not a norm for males of your species unless they are physically-attracted to other males.”

“Not true. Men can compliment another man’s bum if it’s compliment worthy. Ardently, too.”

“I think not. Or, at least, I have seen no evidence to support your statement.”

“I’m the evidence.”

“You are the evidence that you find males attractive. Even those sporting skin with a color of interest rather than your limp pastiness.”

“How did we get here from me wanting to know about you being a king and choosing to go through a portal to a place you clearly hate?”

“Your effusive praise of my buttocks.”

“That is a complete lie. I…”

Greg’s brain had been sitting back eating crisps while he flailed about but finally took pity on him and engaged a few neurons to leap to his cause.

“…wait. You could hear what John and I were saying. He was talking about you suddenly being protective and… ah ha! It’s not your arse that’s being admired, it’s mine! You pine for my posterior, don’t you, Mycroft?”

“Are you insane?”

“Nope. My plump assets are filling your eyes and you covet that lusciousness. It’s ok, you can admit it. I have a little feel now and again, given the glory I’m carting about behind me.”

“That you engage in personal buttocks fondling is not surprising in the slightest.”

“Because it’s a bum _worth_ fondling. The identity of the fondler is irrelevant.”

“Pitiful. And utterly ludicrous, for I have neither the intention of nor the interest in fondling your fattened buttocks.”

“Liar. I can see it in your eyes. Which is disturbing since it’s my bum I’m looking at in those eyes, but I’ve experienced more disturbing things in my life.”

“In my research, I have gained much in the way of knowledge and vocabulary for your species. I believe the term ‘projection’ is aptly applied to your present condition. If you are concerned, I am not prudish. You may gaze upon my buttocks when I make use of the shower, if you gain pleasure from the act.”

“No! There will be no gazing. That’s… that’s just not respectful.”

“It is if I award permission.”

“Nope. I do not credit your argument.”

“Because you _are_ prudish.”

“I am not. Ask my team! They’ve seen me do lots of unprudish things. Admittedly, I was usually drunk when I did them, but they still happened.”

“Humans are beset by an alarming number of unfathomable suspicions and taboos. The longer I remain here the more baffled I become as to why we have worried that your species might pose a threat to us.”

“Oh, and your people just prance about naked, having a go with anyone who might waggle a willing waggleable in their direction?”

“Not precisely, for we do value quality and compatibility in an intimate partner, however, we are certainly not aggrieved by the mere thought of being seen nude.”

“You need standards.”

“You need perspective.”

“I have perspective! It’s just that it got diverted from you being a king on a mission to save your people and onto a twisty path that leads to your muscular arse!”

“Muscular… you have revealed yourself, Gregory.”

Shit. That _was_ revealing. There wasn’t an easy way to walk that back without sounding guilty.

“Did not!”

Or idiotic.

“Your skills for deceit are profoundly lacking. For I am a benevolent king, I shall relieve you of the burden. You are physically excited by my carnal attributes, which is right and proper, but you have more helpful service to offer me at the moment than sexual release. I desire more whisky, then you will reveal to me where the portal through which I entered this world opened.”

“I… I don’t actually know.”

“Then you will help me discover the location. I suspect my original physician is aware of it, if not the buffoon who just departed should have that information.”

“John’s not a buffoon and I have no reason to ask either him or Stamford something like that.”

“Fabricate a reason. Or not. Simply claim curiosity.”

“Didn’t you just say my deceit skills were profoundly lacking?”

“Ah… you are correct. You do not possess even a modicum of the requisite guile. Very well, I shall do it myself. Now, of course, I have no use for you besides whisky.”

Mycroft’s eyes were eerily dark, but Greg was finding himself getting better at interpreting the occasional gleam that light them from their inky depths. This one was practically a wink.

“I beg to differ. You don’t know how to order groceries.”

“Egad! I stand corrected. I have a single use for you besides whisky. Unless, of course…”

Why are you smiling at me like that, Mycroft? It has… meaning… so stop before I get squirmy, despite your cheeky wink.

“… you desire to assist with my bathing tonight.”

Squirming has commenced. And for a lot of reasons!

“I _will_ shove a potato up your arse, muscular or not.”

“Are vegetables routinely used as objects of sexual stimulation? What shape and size of potato do you intend to insert?”

Greg threw back the remaining 80% of his whisky, set down his glass, rose and walked outside the cottage to begin screaming into the void. Or at the ocean, which was an acceptable substitute.

While Greg’s sanity ebbed away, Mycroft let a feral smile stretch across his lips and he nestled into his chair, content with his success at robbing his housemate of his mental faculties. More importantly he had better assessed the man’s opposition to an escape plan, which seemed little to none. Perhaps Gregory would not actively assist, but he certainly would not report attempts to discover a method of leaving this damnable prison. And this world.

Though, to be fair, it would be regrettable to leave Gregory behind when the escape occurred. He was proving far more entertaining than predicted. And… companionable. When had he last been able simply to talk to another person without that person worrying that they would give offense to their king? Even his closest aides and allies did not behave as friends. There was a distance there, ever-present and, possibly, necessary for the work he must do, but it did become tiresome to have nobody with whom he could communicate as himself, and not as a king, besides Sherlock and his mother.

And Gregory’s arse was a _spectacular_ example of the breed. Despite his illness, the lure of his body remained admirable in strength. And he _had_ confessed that his sexual equipment still functioned, had he not? Not that they would engage in sexual relations, of course, but it was a rather pleasant thought to contemplate. The man laudably held in check both his temper and his tongue, but there was a passion there that would surely infuse their lovemaking with a delectable fire. Conversely, he was a patient and caring man, so there would be sweetness and tenderness, as well. That would be a novelty. When he cared to indulge his lusts, it was a brief, albeit intense, experience to gain the desired sensations in the shortest amount of time, something he saw no reason to expend in quantity on such a purely physical pursuit.

However, he now _had_ the luxury of time. He was not beset by obligations and countless hands reaching for his notice. He could not tarry here, but neither could he do much besides enjoy what pleasures presented themselves during the time he _did_ reside in this damnable place. Gregory could prove a welcome pleasure, indeed, if he could be persuaded to shed his prurience. Along, of course, with his clothing…


	17. Chapter 17

“Are you sure I can’t toss it all and join the program, Greg? Those photos you sent… you are in a positively gorgeous place and if anyone deserves that gorgeousness, it’s me.”

Greg grinned at the laptop and Donovan’s matter-of-fact tone. He’d never skyped before, but was more than willing to try the stepwise instructions he’d been sent by both Donovan and Anderson to set it up and make it work.

“Nope. You’re not special enough to warrant this vista of nature’s glory. It’s utterly amazing, though, that’s for certain. And it’s not just the view. It’s the sound, the smell… I adore London, but this is the right place for me now. I always wanted something like this for my retirement, if not a quiet little place in the land of fields and forests, and now I have what I wanted and more. Unlimited food, drink, no worries about utility bills or any bills at all, for that matter. It’s heaven.”

“Gregory! Whisky!”

Heaven, in a sense…

“Oh! Is that your new friend?”

“Yep. Sitting outside right now, actually, enjoying the gorgeousness. He does that a lot, and I can’t blame him, honestly. It’s a small cottage and I’m not certain he’s very used to living in small places.”

What with being a king and having a castle to roam about when the mood strikes.

“He’d hate London, then. I still can’t afford to move to something larger than pint glass.”

“Want me to make a call and see what’s in the wind for a possible promotion? It _was_ being batted about, so it’s likely just the bureaucracy dragging its heels getting things formalized.”

“It’s not going to help my chances having my former boss phoning to plead my case.”

“Oh ye of little faith. That’s how a lot of promotions get processed, I’ll have you know. You nudge and elbow and, if necessary, shove and remind the chief inspector or superintendent about the little incident from a few decades ago they’d very much rather everyone forgot about but there are still old coppers hanging about who remember all the little incidents that ever happened to anyone wearing the uniform, so… I’ll hold off, though, if you want me to.”

At least, so you know…

“You’re already planning your phone speech, aren’t you?”

“I plan nothing, as you are well aware.”

“True. But leave things alone, Greg. I get this on my own or not at all.”

“Fine! But don’t cry to me when you’re watching someone like Tapham getting a shiny new promotion and you’re seething because a rock is smarter and harder working than he is.”

“He’s transferring to Birmingham, so I don’t give a toss.”

“Gregory! Where is my whisky? Are you crippled? Deaf? Lazy? Yes, verily it is surely the latter.”

“Ooh, he knows you, doesn’t he?”

“Thanks for that, Donovan. And, for your information, I’m actually very not-lazy in my new position. Cooking, tidying, taking long walks, catching up on my reading… I’m being industrious!”

“Lie!”

Greg leapt at the voice in his ear and Donovan made a noise on her end of the call that would have embarrassed her if there was anyone there to hear it and Greg wasn’t having heart failure from being startled.

“I do not have my whisky. Who are you, human, and why are you distracting my servant from his duties?”

Donovan gaped at the red, glaring face occupying her monitor, albeit at what seemed an uncomfortable angle, at least as long as it took for Greg to shove it out of the way.

“I am having a private conversation, Mycroft!”

“False. I can hear it easily, so there is not a shred of privacy you can claim.”

“If you had a shred of _decency_ , you wouldn’t be eavesdropping!”

“If I had a shred of whisky, I would not _need_ to eavesdrop.”

Wondering if she had time to pop a bowl of popcorn, Donovan watched the bickering with _more_ , she had to admit, than a shred of interest.

“You have arms! Two of them! Pour a glass for yourself.”

“And deny you the satisfaction of performing your contracted services? Perish the thought.”

“You know that film I said we’d watch tonight that you’d probably like? I just forgot the title, so we’ll watch some horrid shite that will make your brain liquefy and leak out of your ears.”

“I care not. I have discovered a method to disable your access to your tablet devices so you cannot read the wretched books that have you enthralled. You are only partially through your current tome, are you not?”

“You are an evil man, Mycroft… Evil as a weevil.”

“Insects seem very beneficial to your various natural processes, so I cannot see any properly described as evil. You, however, offer a ripe area of debate on the topic.”

“Greg, want to introduce me?”

One of Greg’s hands waved off Donovan’s request and the other made a gesture that earned him a satisfied smirk from his current nemesis.

“Introduce me to your female, Gregory. A lover, perhaps? There is much I would ask, if only to assuage my curiosity as to your personal tastes and physical shortcomings.”

“Introduce me, _now_ , Greg. This is a conversation I want a very large piece of.”

“Fuck off, Donovan.”

“Your female’s name is Donovan? That does not fit well with the patterns of feminine naming for your language, though, there are copious exceptions to the various norms, so I suppose I should not be surprised.”

“Introductions, Greg! What are you scared of?”

“Your female seems of strong blood. What does it taste like?”

“NOW!”

Greg decided losing the plot at this point was a tremendous idea, so he simply rose from his chair, motioned Mycroft to take it and stole the notion of an early-day whisky as his own personal brainstorm. And it _was_ gorgeous outdoors, today, so sitting and sipping in the sun was a perfect way to wash away any villainous energy from two of the most evil people in the universe.

And he could sit and sip with impunity, thank you very much. This retirement business was great! It’s amazing how much of his life was occupied by work. Not only when he was physically on the job, but even when he wasn’t. The countless of hours spent thinking about cases, waiting for the phone to ring to call him back into the fray… it wasn’t that often, actually, that he genuinely felt ‘off duty.’ He loved his job, he truly had, but it was an indescribable relief, a profound sense of freedom to have it off his shoulders at this time of his life.

Of course, he had a _new_ weight on his shoulders, but it was busy gossiping with Donovan, so this time was just for him and him alone…

__________

“She is not your female.”

Greg was happily on his second whisky because whatever gossiping was going on had lasted longer than he expected and the day really was lovely, both of which deserved celebrating, so this statement made only the slightest impact on his calm.

“Correct. In fact, Sally would probably rip your balls off if you said that aloud.”

“There was no testicle ripping, however, she was somewhat forceful disabusing me of that particular belief. You did, however, have a female at one point.”

“The important word there is ‘did.’ Maybe two words… did have. Not anymore, though. Not for a long time, actually.”

Greg simply sighed as Mycroft grabbed his hips and bodily lifted him, setting him closer to the end of the bench so there was now seating room for two.

“You could have simply asked me to budge over, you know.”

“My ends were met, regardless of the method.”

Mycroft’s needs also included whisky, apparently, for he appropriated Greg’s glass and drained the remaining sips in one gulp.

“Man can’t even enjoy his whiskey on a bench anymore. What’s the world coming to?”

“Yours? Damnation, I suspect.”

“Fair point.”

“Gregory… is your female deceased?”

The tone of Mycroft’s question erased Greg’s admittedly mild irritation in an instant.

“No, nothing like that. We’re divorced. Ummm… decided to end the marriage ourselves, nobody has to die to accomplish that.”

“I am aware of the term.”

“Good. Good… wasn’t working out, you see? Gave it a go, but… just not meant to be.”

“You are lying.”

“I am not! I really am divorced.”

“You are lying about the reason.”

“What does it matter?”

“It vexes you.”

“No… not anymore.”

“Tell me.”

“What’s to tell? Common enough story… she found someone else.”

“She betrayed you?”

“Uh… that’s a harsh way to put it.”

“Accurate, though, I suspect.”

“Well, if you’re going to quibble semantics.”

“Thus you confirm the situation to my satisfaction. And, yet, you seem to have left her alive.”

“Of course I did! We don’t kill people just because… ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration because I’ve worked a rather unhappy number of cases where that’s exactly what happened, but not in my case. Not in most people’s cases. You just… you either work things out and heal the breach, move on with your marriage, or you don’t. Why are you sniffing me?”

“Because it is easier to sense the lies. Such as the one you are telling me now.”

“It’s not a lie! We got a divorce because she cheated on me!”

“What are you omitting?”

“Nothi… none of your business.”

“Your Internet tells me that confession is good for the soul. I suspect I lack such a thing, but humans seem to value theirs, if they subscribe to the myth.”

“No more computer for you.”

“Very much more computer for me, I would say. I am learning a great deal about the foibles of your species, such as a tendency to both lie and deny when confronted with unpalatable truths. What is yours, Gregory? Unless you worry it is puny and insignificant, thus earning my scorn.”

Greg gritted his teeth, but had to concede that Mycroft’s voice, which could have been thick with mockery, wasn’t. It was teasing, perhaps, but with a subtle pull as if the Visitor was trying to use humor to coax the truth out of him. That was novel. And surprisingly effective.

“Fine! It wasn’t the first time she’d cheated on me. I tried to do the right thing. Tried to understand and forgive. To work on our problems. I was the only one doing that, though, apparently.”

“You permitted such disrespect?”

“Permitted isn’t a word you can use for another adult’s actions like that, Mycroft. She made her choices. My choice was to live with it or not. I chose not.”

“Eventually.”

“Yeah, well… maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But, my life is filled with not-smart things, so it’s in good company.”

“I would never permit such betrayal.”

“You’re a king. I suspect betrayal is a bit more problematic for you than it is for me.”

“Perhaps, but… I would have affected some form of retribution for being ill-used. You were a law enforcer. Did you, at minimum, see her life made torturous as reward for her treachery?”

“Uh… no. Well… I can’t say the fact her car was removed for parking violations on a routine basis for awhile after our divorce wasn’t retribution, but it wasn’t enacted by me. In fact, a certain person to whom you were just talking may have had a hand in that.”

“That is not surprising. Your Donovan has a far greater wellspring of strength and thirst for vengeance than do you. That much was clear during even our brief conversation.”

“Yep, she’s one to watch if you are foolish enough to steal the Jaffa cakes from her lunch. Not that I’ve done that, mind you. More than once.”

“You seem to be poorly matched with females. It is fortunate you also desire sexual relations with males or I suspect you would rarely engage in any pleasurable physical activities.”

“I… if you must know, Mr. Snoop, my romantic luck with men is nearly as dreadful.”

“Are you a eunuch?”

“NO! It’s just… being a cop is hard. Very long, unpredictable hours, enormous stress… it’s difficult to maintain relationships. Not impossible, mind you. I know loads in the police service with very happy, stable relationships, but it’s also common to find yourself not able to meet that perfect person who can carry on knowing your job won’t get easier or less time-consuming.”

Mycroft was silent a moment and Greg wondered if he was hearing something familiar in that sad and pathetic tale. It couldn’t be easy for a king to find romance, either. Same miserable hours and stress, plus the worry that whoever you’re with either wants something from you or is planning to assassinate you in your sleep.

“You are no longer employed, however.”

“Yeah, but… I wasn’t going to consider getting involved with anyone since I’m not going to be here very long. Even when I was waiting to be accepted into this program, I didn’t do much to put myself out there to be noticed. It wouldn’t be fair. Get someone’s hopes up then reveal the big surprise that I’m dying.”

“That does not preclude you from seeking sexual intimacy.”

“Ummmm… no. That’s true. But… like I said, or didn’t, I don’t even remember at this point, but I had other things on my mind than personal relationships.”

“Sex is not exclusively tied to enduring acquaintance.”

“Again, that’s true, but I’ve never been one for a quick pull at my local. Ok, that’s not true, because that very much _was_ me when I was younger, but I haven’t been younger in a long, long time.”

“Age is also not reason to deny yourself sexual satisfaction.”

“How about you, King Mycroft? All this focus on me is starting to feel like you’re keeping the conversation away from your own love life. Things a little dry for you at the moment, perhaps?”

“No, for I drank two Cokes while speaking with Donovan.”

“I mean in the genital region.”

“Why would my genitals be moist?”

“I know you’re not that clueless.”

“I believe your sexual deprivation has had adverse effects on your intellect. I am not yet prepared to assign to this the full responsibility for your generally low level of intelligence, however, I am willing to consider it a mitigating factor.”

“Deflecting again. Got it. It’s probably been so long since you got a little that your bollocks have dried up. Just little shriveled raisins there now.”

“Given you have seen my testicles, you know that is far from the truth.”

“Raisins. I saw raisins. Not even the ones you soak in brandy so they plump a bit before you use them. The really dry, hard shrively ones that would crack a tooth if you bit down on one.”

“If you bite the testicles of your lovers, it is highly unsurprising you have so very few.”

“There you go again, shifting the focus from your own sad romantic state.”

“Kings do not fritter away their time with romance.”

“Shriveled. Raisins.”

“Romance and sex are not the same.”

“So, that’s two things you’re not getting in your life. Must be hard sitting on the throne all day with shrively raisin balls and nobody to rub a little brandy on them now and again because they care about your comfort.”

“More and more your sexual peccadilloes absolutely disgust me.”

“Oh, I know tricks that would send your nethers tingling. Nothing in the slightest disgusting about any of that.”

“A vainglorious boast.”

“There’s no need to boast when you have fact on your side.”

“Facts require evidence to be acknowledged as such.”

“I got evidence. Barrelsful of evidence.”

“Is it hiding behind your imaginary sexual technique?”

“Nothing imaginary about my sexual technique. To boast vaingloriously…”

“Again?”

“… I pride myself on seeing my partners exceptionally satisfied with our encounters.”

“Because you pay them well?”

“Isn’t that more what a king does with all his gold and jewels? Toss a few doubloons at one of his harem for a few minutes of frolic? Or raisin polishing, in your case.”

“The concept of a harem is positively revolting. Further, if you believe that the duration of my… frolicking… is limited to a scant few minutes, then you are a troublingly deluded individual.”

“I know a quick gun when I see one, Mycroft.”

“Is that a sexual reference of some form?”

“Oh, you know it is.”

“I assure you, I do not.”

“The only thing you’re king of, I suspect, is lying about things. Like your frolic potential.”

Mycroft bared his teeth and Greg bared his back.

“Ah, so you wish to court me. Interesting.”

“What! No! That’s ridiculous and you do it all the time to me, so don’t think I’m fooled for a second.”

“Very well, that is not a courtship gesture. However, it is a challenge to combat if you choose to pursue that, instead.”

“Combat? Sure. Let’s go.”

Mycroft stared blankly at Greg’s hand outstretched with fingers curled and thumb pointing cheekily at the sky.

“What are you doing?”

“Enacting my challenge of combat. Come on, Captain Crimson. Let’s see what you got.”

“I have no idea what I have ‘got.’ Why are you doing… that?”

“Thumb wresting. Link your fingers with mine. The objective is to pin the other bloke’s thumb.”

“You just concocted this atrocity.”

“Incorrect! Learned it from a 6-year-old daughter of a colleague. She was good, too. Had a very wily thumb.”

“Preposterous.”

“Scared?”

“Of what? Of pulverizing your thumb?”

“Yeah, scared like a chicken seeing a fox.”

“This is not a contest you can win, Gregory.”

“Let’s step back to the part of the conversation about facts and evidence, shall we?”

Mycroft nodded and rose, walked over to a large stone, the top portion of which was protruding from the ground. At least for a moment. Then the whole stone was out of the ground and rolling down towards the beach.

“That’s not evidence. I didn’t see you use your thumb at all in that bit of nonsense.”

This time, Mycroft, using only his thumbs, lifted Greg, and the bench he was sitting on, walking both down to the edge of the water to continue their conversation.

“Ok, I have to admit that I may have overestimated the uselessness of your thumbs.”

“Most wise. Now, given I have walked to this point, I see no reason not to capitalize upon the opportunity.”

“Are we back to combat again?”

“No, for you are certainly not capable in besting me in a contest involving swimming.”

“Swimmi… put your trousers back on!”

Something Mycroft was not inclined to do, as both his trousers and underpants were tossed into Greg’s face, followed by his shirt and jumper.

“Take note, Gregory…”

Greg pouted as Mycroft cupped his balls and rubbed them slightly to document their lack of raisny shrivelness.

“That’ll change in two seconds once you hit the water!”

Not that Mycroft cared, because he got what he wanted, which was the slight hitch of Greg’s breath from the small, lewd act. And the water was _not_ horridly frigid, especially as he swam down and out where he could exercise his muscles to their fullest. And, of course, test how far and deep he could travel before he met the security warning which, now that he was seeking it, was instantly noticeable as a gentle tingling through his body. It was disappointing, however, the range he had for swimming and flying was not inconsequential. Until he found his escape, it would allow for an acceptable expanse of travel when he desired it.

Of course, he should likely alert Gregory of his intentions beforehand, so the foolish human didn’t do precisely what he was now doing.

Swimming quickly back towards the surface, Mycroft changed course at the last second to scoop up the panicked, frantic Greg from the water and carefully carry him back to the cottage for dry clothes.

“That was foolish, Gregory.”

“I thought you were just going for a little swim!”

“I did.”

“You dove out of sight and didn’t come up again!”

“I can refrain from breathing longer, I suspect, than can you.”

“Ok, but…”

“I will not do so again without first notifying you of my intentions, should you be present to witness it.”

“Thanks.”

The look of relief on Greg’s face gave Mycroft a tiny mote of guilt, but he packed it away with an ease born of long practice packing away a very great deal to continue on with his duties when he no time for such emotional nonsense.

“Now, let us remove your clothing so you can dry your skin.”

“I can do that, thank you.”

“Given the state of your shoulder, I wager it would be both an ungainly and slow process. While I find such a thing terribly amusing, I have no wish to deal with your further physical incapacity due to chill-prompted illness or an incessant aria of your complaints.”

“Lucky you, then! I’ll do all of that in my bedroom where, coincidentally, I’ll be changing into dry clothes.”

“Should you not shower first?”

“No, I should just get into dry things.”

“Very well, though I cannot fathom why we are relocating to your bedroom for your undressing, we may now begin.”

“There’s no ‘we’ in my undressing.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Beg all you like, but I’m doing this alone. That should make you happy, actually, as you don’t have to view my paste-colored human body.”

“One does what one must when one is a king.”

“Funny. And while you’re being funny, I’m freezing to death.”

“Ah, one moment.”

Greg was lifted yet again, this time walked to Mycroft’s bedroom which was hot as an oven baking buns.

“There. Disrobe and allow the heat to directly contact and penetrate your flesh.”

“I will. In my own bedroom. While you’re here, though, you might consider tossing something on to start your own warding off of the cold. Or, here’s an idea, hop into the shower to get the salt off your skin first.”

Mycroft made a show of licking off the few remaining drops of seawater from the back of his hand and the only adverb that leapt to Greg’s mind while watching him to it was ‘seductively.’ The blighter.

“Oh, so that’s your game, is it? We’re back to sexual techniques. Well, if yours starts with licking yourself, it’s not surprising your harem waves a fee schedule in your face when you come sniffing about for their favors.”

The only response Greg got was a slow smirk, since Mycroft had been entirely satisfied by the exchange. And the noticeable dilation of Greg’s pupils. Apparently, that was a sign of sexual desire in humans, according to the somewhat helpful Internet.

“I choose my lovers carefully and certainly not from a bevy of bodies conscripted for that purpose. But, given you are not recognizing the efficiency of my suggestions, by all means flee to your cold sleeping space and peel from your sodden form, with chilled fingers and a damaged arm, the garments that are rapidly draining away your body heat.”

“I will. If you just… what are you doing?”

“Bending to retrieve what appears to be a bit of sea vegetation from my floor.”

And allowing you a truly spectacular view of my buttocks.

“I’m leaving.”

“Yes, you have already indicated such. Do get on with it.”

Greg’s brain was fully on board with that idea, but his legs thought differently on the matter. However, he was a former Detective Inspector and didn’t take kindly to shows of independence from body parts, so finally lurched into a zombie walk out of Mycroft’s bedroom, pointedly not looking back once. Maybe twice.

Especially since Mycroft had straightened and stretched languidly for Greg’s viewing pleasure as he haltingly walked away. The Visitor did, however, wait until Greg was fully out of the room, door closed firmly behind him, to smile in a way that lit up his face. Dear heavens, but that was fun! He had never once tried any form of sexual enticement because… as a king, frankly, it was not needed. People were endlessly throwing themselves in your path to offer whatever you might wish to gain royal favor, but this was so much more satisfying. He had not too seriously considered dallying with the human, but the thought was now more tempting than ever. A small measure of mutual pleasure before he departed this accursed world forever.

Though, to be vaingloriously boastful, what he had to offer Gregory was not what one could term _small_. Though his physical form was not as fine as others of his kind, he did have the occasional attribute of which he was proud. One of which was beginning to stand quite proudly now from only the smallest bit of continued manual stimulation. Dear Gregory… if your body cannot be here physically to please me, the memory of it will have to suffice for now…

But memory is not all I will enjoy, methinks, before here I do leave.


	18. Chapter 18

No shame. No shame, whatsoever…

“Do you even know the _meaning_ of the word shame?”

Oh sure, stop right in front of me and cock your hip, you… trollop.

“About what are you complaining now?”

“It’s freezing in here, for you, but you’re promenading about without a stitch of clothes on.”

Which is absolutely, fucking intentional because you’re a twat who is on a mission to drive me insane.

“I was changing into different attire for dinner and became parched. As there are no Cokes in my bedroom, there was but a single solution to my dilemma.”

“Dressing for dinner… we are not watching any more period drams on the telly. You are far too impressionable.”

And naked.

“I care not about the foibles of your culture or history, however, for your edification, I had planned to take a stroll after dinner and my garments were not suitable for the task.”

“Oh. Ok, that makes a little sense. Just a little, mind you, as a sturdy jacket, shoes, hat and scarf are all you really needed to add to what you _were_ wearing, but it’s an actual reason and not something preposterous you made up just to make me loony, so I’ll do you the courtesy of believing it’s true.”

“You are a ridiculously suspicious man, Gregory.”

“Comes with being a detective. And knowing you for more than five minutes.”

Especially since you’ve decided to become a winged Casanova and attempt a sad plying of me with your wiles. Which aren’t sad. Not by anyone’s description. It’s been a long time since wiles of any form were in the same room with this old detective and his own wiles were wistfully remembering how nice the meeting of wiles could be, too.

“Be that as it may, I now have my Coke and shall continue dressing. Care to assist?”

“No, I do not care to assist. I care to have a naked, red fellow out of my sight so I can continue taking yet another turn as chef because you’re scared to handle a pan.”

“Why should I lower myself to menial labor when you are here to do it for me?”

“Because it’s collegial. Helpful. Fair.”

“None of which I care about. Besides, I have no desire to hear further of your complaints because what I have prepared exceeds your threshold for deliciousness and you become confused by the experience.”

“Meaning you’re terrified you’ll muck it all up and prove, once and for all, that you can’t cook.”

“Whatever pleasant lie comforts you, do indulge yourself.”

“Will you, at least, take down that new sack of rice?”

Mycroft mulled saying something pithy in response, then remembered that the rice was on a high shelf and a bit heavy for someone who should not be reaching for heavy things at present. And, along with the rice, he could move to a more convenient location a few other items that often featured in their meals.

“Thanks.”

“When shall you be preparing fish?”

If he wasn’t being a winged Casanova, Mycroft was being a baffling bastard. Regardless, life was never boring!

“Uhh… I don’t know. Do you want fish?”

“I intend to quash fully your notion of my inability to prepare food.”

“You can cook fish?”

“Your disbelief insults me.”

“Fish is fucking hard to get right and you tell me you can do it even though all I’ve seen you do is slice bread and spread on jam. Oh, and microwave potatoes.”

“Of which we need more.”

“On the list.”

“And your assessment of my abilities from such a miniscule data sample is sloppy. Ensure a fish is included with the food demand and I shall prepare it.”

Of course, ‘a fish’ was accompanied by cleaning and gutting the fish, neither of which his royal peevishness was likely to do. But, if that was the direction they were already going…

“We could, you know, catch a fish ourselves. We’ve got a boat. And the gear to do the catching.”

“Do you know which fish are palatable, let alone edible?”

Go back to being sexy and baffling, you bastard.

“I… ok, no, but that’s what the Internet is for.”

“If you wish to conduct the research and sit in a boat, then feel free. It is far more convenient for the lackeys to deliver something appropriate to us. With potatoes.”

“Nothing says we can’t do both, but it might spare you extra humiliation when my astounding fish-catching skills aren’t matched by your fish-cooking skills. Anyway, how are those fake cooking skills of yours with things like prawns?”

“They are the small, many-legged creatures with a vaguely insectoid form?”

“I’m not sure if I want any now.”

“We have similar organisms in my world. Some are agonizingly lethal if consumed. Others are most delicious.”

“I’ll add prawns to the list, too.”

Yes, his companion was naked. And red. And had black eyes and rather ferocious teeth, but in a million homes around the country this conversation was taking place with only minor variations. Domesticity was a hell of a thing…

“Good. And I will acquire for you your own hat and scarf. When we conclude our meal, you will accompany me for my walk.”

“Oh, will I, Your Highness?”

“You have stated you are glad for the opportunity for exercise.”

“That’s… true, actually. Alight, a nice after-dinner walk is certainly a welcome bit of exercise.”

“And, during our walk, you will disclose me what you know of the communications capabilities of our location.”

Was there a map for this conversation?

“Why? In any case, you already know what they are.”

“Knowing what they are does not equate with having details on the intricacies of their function.”

“Might I again turn your attention to the Internet?”

“Meaning you, also, lack the knowledge. That is unfortunate, since I have become aware that our Internet is being monitored.”

“Uh… by who?”

“Your government. Military. I do not know precisely, but I am noticing that based upon my travails, I am targeted with messages and other items wanting my attention that are connected to previous information-gathering sessions.”

“Oh, you mean ads and the like. That’s not the government. That’s… everybody else. Businesses and such. It’s a way to make money, you see. I can install an ad blocker to cut through a lot of that rubbish.”

“We are being spied upon by the rabble?”

“Well, the ones who sell ads, who I do admit _are_ properly described by something rude though they’re rich as fuck, so probably not ‘rabble.’ _Because_ of being rich as fuck. Ten fucks, in some cases.”

“I would never permit such a thing. It is vile and intrusive.”

“I agree but, maybe, money doesn’t make your world go round as it does ours. If somebody isn’t profiting by it now, you can bet someone is trying their hardest to be the _first_ to make a profit off of it. Regardless, it’s safe to learn what you want about communications technology. In truth, I can’t say that what you do on the web isn’t being watched by the people at the military base, but if they didn’t swoop in and do anything when you were looking for where your people were being held, they probably won’t now.”

“Perhaps.”

“Honestly, they’re just waiting for… you know… so they can start building another cottage. We’re honestly not that important or worth much notice.”

“Regardless, you will provide me with what information you _do_ possess while we walk.”

“Fine, if that’s your idea of interesting conversation, I’ll do my best. I’d rather talk about that Doctor Who audioplay we listened to, but to each his own.”

“An atrocity. Utterly rife with scientific inaccuracies.”

“Yet you still shushed me every time I made a comment.”

“You were making it hard to tally the inaccuracies.”

“Of course.”

__________

Greg sipped his wine and shook his head as Mycroft muttered at the computer monitor while his fingers moved at frightening speed across the keyboard. The Visitor had created some typing system of his own and it was blistering efficient at letting those fingers do their job.

“Ok, I have to ask. What is so interesting on the computer that you’ve been on it all day and half the night?”

“Information.”

“Yeah, got that. Want to be a bit more specific?”

“Not at this time.”

“Alright. A man has a right to his privacy. Something you should remember the next time I’m in the shower.”

Two adults shouldn’t have to have this conversation, but his regal majesty was indistinguishable from a 6-year-old sometimes.

“I did not disturb your ablutions.”

“No, you stood there while I was starkers and chatted with me about Agatha Christie.”

“You are offended by Agatha Christie?”

“I was offended by you refusing to leave so I could finish my shower!”

“I was not stopping you in any manner whatsoever.”

“You pulled back the curtain so you could lean against the wall and ogle me!”

“It is polite to converse face to face whenever possible.”

“Bollocks.”

“I did see them, yes. They are… acceptable.”

“They are more than acceptable and you know it. You’ve traipsed through the Internet long enough to know that I have a fine se of… what am I saying. I don’t care if you find my plums acceptable or not.”

“You do. You cannot hide such obvious facts from me.”

“Pfft.”

“The limpness of your reply is, fortunately, not matched by a limpness of penis.”

“You do not know that. Ok, that couldn’t have sounded worse if I tried.”

“I suspect it could. You are rather talented at making self-damning statements.”

“I won’t deny that. It’s true. For my sins, it is very, very true.”

“Let us speak of your sins, shall we? Human culture tends to equate sexual matters with this concept of sin, and I am highly curious as to what sexual depravities you have committed to have such a wealth of sin to burden your so-called soul.”

“Goodbye, Mycroft.”

“Are you going to bed?”

“Not yet. Why? Need something.”

“No, but if you were, I was going to ask if you were going to masturbate before you rested. I am curious to know your technique.”

“I am never going to bed again in my life.”

“Given you also masturbate in the shower, I am not denied my opportunities for observation.”

“I’m in hell.”

“Not yet, but those sinful, sexual depravities you are hiding may see you there yet.”

__________

Greg stared at the tablet in his hand and began not only to think of, but yearn for, hell.

“You want what?”

“Electronics supplies and equipment.”

“Is this related to your years and years on the computer?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Why in the world do you need these hundred thousand things?”

“A hobby.”

“Wrong.”

“Curiosity.”

“More believable, but not enough actually to _be_ believed.”

“I intend to construct a communications apparatus to leverage certain existing parameters of your communications grid to contact my brother.”

Greg stared blankly at Mycroft but, since nothing about the Visitor’s face shifted in the slightest away from bland candor, he decided that his nemesis was actually being honest.

“That… that I _do_ believe, even though it’s insane. How do plan on doing that? We’ve tried over and over to contact your world. Our best minds have worked on the problem and failed.”

“Your best minds… not what one might term, in your crude language, a ringing endorsement.”

“Funny. It’s not possible.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Do you know something we don’t know?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“For a non-arrogant bastard, yes.”

“Very well, I do have knowledge of certain scientific matters that tilt the situation in my favor. What I lacked was a better understanding of what was available and utilized here for the purposes of at-distance communication.”

“Ok… I’m not going to doubt what you’re saying since I have no basis for doing so, but I do suspect that, while we’re not a priority item for the local army lads, they are going to be interested in you building a massive communications tower on the lawn or a sudden, enormous increase in our electricity use.”

“Since neither of those will come to pass, kindly gain for me my desired list of items.”

“Which is also likely going to raise eyebrows. I don’t even recognize the names of a quarter of what’s on this list.”

“Unsurprising, but you do raise a valid point. I have researched the situation and what I require is available for general purchase. You will do so and have it delivered here.”

“Ummmm… ok, first, purchasing requires money and things with names this long and complicated can’t be cheap. Second, the road here is guarded, so a delivery van isn’t going to simply drive up and toss a package on our stoop.”

“Your first point is not my concern for two reasons. It is not my money that shall be spent and, further, I have priced my list according to your monetary system and it is not a prohibitive amount based on what I have determined is your likely income. Have my wares delivered to the military base for transport to me with our standard grocery order.”

“That… spending my money like it’s yours is very on brand for you, I have to say, but if the cost is genuinely reasonable, I don’t mind placing an order. As for getting it delivered, that’s not the worst idea in the world. Now that you’ve mentioned it, actually, I remember Stamford saying that was a method to get packages and the like from family and friends if I forgot something I wanted to bring with me.”

“If that fails, perhaps your female subordinate would deliver my goods in person.”

“Sally will kill you for calling her my subordinate, especially since I’m retired.”

“Very well, I shall refrain, however, the point stands, especially since she expressed a desire to visit this location, not only to view what on your world passes for beauty, but to inspect your standard of self-maintenance.”

“Sally wants to check if I’m eating properly and getting enough sleep. Bloody marvelous.”

“Is that not a noble sentiment?”

“I… yes, it is. You’re right and I was being an arse.”

“A welcome change from staring at mine.”

“Fuck you.”

“In due course, I have no doubt. Though who shall be the fucker and who shall be the fuckee shall remain my little secret.”

“Double fuck double you.”

“I would have my materials sooner than later, so make what preparations and issue what invitations are required to see it done. The method is immaterial.”

“Before I even consider it… is this you having a joke at my expense or do you really think you can do it? I don’t mind, much, you being ridiculous to wind me up, but I don’t want to spend money or bother the chaps at the base for nothing.”

“I am most serious in my request. Ultimately, it may be a futile exercise, but I do have confidence in the possibility of success.”

“Alright… I’ll see what I can do. I mean, I can understand why you’d want to contact your brother. Tell him you’re alright. Let him know the situation. Is he… does he take the throne when you don’t return?”

“You persist in believing I shall not escape.”

“Just being practical, not demeaning you in any way.”

“Very well. I choose to believe you for the sake of collegiality, but my choice might change at any point in time. In any case, yes, he would, which is not a situation anyone with a functional mind would find acceptable, including Sherlock.”

“Not the political sort?”

“Not in the slightest. He is far more gleeful fomenting political unrest than anything more positive in nature..”

“Ooh, bit of a troublemaker, is he?”

“He believes himself such, however, a great deal of what he perpetrates is accomplished due to my pointed lack of intervention.”

“You let him think he’s being rebellious and sneaky to keep him happy.”

“Effectively, yes. While he dabbles in his schemes and petty acts of annoyance, he is kept from being underfoot and from turning his mind to far more consequential acts of destruction and chaos.”

“That sounds fairly standard for brotherly relations. If I can help you talk to him, Mycroft, I will. But, don’t be too disappointed when you can’t accomplish it.”

“Shall we wager?”

“No.”

“You are so uncertain of your position? I admit _I_ would be if I were you.”

“I am not uncertain, so much as I have very little doubt you’ll somehow find a way to cheat if you lose and I’ll end up paying the penalty no matter what happens.”

Oh, look at that smirk. The target was hit squarely in the center, wasn’t it, evil man…

“That is most astute of you, Gregory. Well done.”

“Thank you. And, let me guess, you want me to start ordering your stuff now.”

“In what better way might you spend your time?”

“A hundred ways.”

“Is one of them making cake?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What did you see online that makes you suddenly want cake?”

“Cakes.”

“Yeah, ok, that makes sense. Tomorrow, maybe, I can make cake. I can probably find a recipe that’s easy enough. My mum made simple cakes that used what she had on hand, so I can probably find something tasty for us without a lot of fuss.”

“Will it have sweet spread upon it?”

“Jam? You can spread that between layers, at least for some recipes.”

“That will do. I desire cake with jam. You may begin seeking a suitable formula when you have ordered my electronics needs.”

“And what are you going to do for me if I’m doing all of this for you?”

Long fingers trailed up Greg’s neck and gently ran along his cheek.

“Whatever you desire, Gregory.”

“You doing the washing up after dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Really?”

“After our meal, I will gladly wash your naked body. Thoroughly and tenderly, have no fear.”

“Go away.”

“I shall remain within earshot if you find yourself wanting a demonstration of how I will treat your body when it is under my hands. Trust that I will make the demonstration a visually pleasing one.”

The man was stupendously evil. And stupendously successful in _being_ evil. And in putting mental images into a certain mind that couldn’t even be acted on because his favorite wanking spots had been rumbled by someone both stupendously evil and sure to stand at the door commenting on his hand speed or something throughout the fun…

__________

“Ok, what in the world made you think that the cost for this stuff was reasonable? I scarcely make this much money in a year!”

Mycroft set down his tablet and casually glanced at the quivering DI.

“You have no expenses.”

“That’s not the point!”

“It is very much the point. You have no expenses, nor do you have a wife who might require your funds. Further, you have indicated you have no offspring who, also, might lay claim to your monies.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to fob it off on you for your science project!”

“Why not? You cannot spend it after you are dead.”

Greg’s slight step back at the words wasn’t even necessary to signal to Mycroft he’d crossed a line. He knew it the moment the words came out of his mouth.

“I… I am sorry, Gregory. That was abhorrent of me to say.”

“It’s umm… it’s ok. Really, it is. I mean, it’s true, I can’t deny that. But, it’s strange how rarely I think about it. Dying, I mean. I’m still going about my business and enjoying life without any real thought towards how little of it I have left to enjoy. This just caught me off guard, nothing more. And, for your information, I have my will already written and sitting in the hands of a solicitor. No, I don’t have any children to get my money and my ex-wife sure as fuck isn’t getting a single farthing, but I do have certain charities I want to see given what help I’m able. I have an insurance policy, too, that will pay out a tidy sum to those in need. You’re exactly right that I can’t take anything with me, but I _can_ see it go to those who can benefit from it. The only reason I haven’t disbursed any money yet is it’s earning interest while it sits in my accounts. A pittance, really, but every bit counts.”

“An honorable act.”

“Thank you. The one good thing about knowing you’re dying is you can get everything sorted beforehand. I’ve seen the result of people dying suddenly, by accident or murder, and it’s not always pleasant. Family squabbles, searching high and low for assets, unexpected debts get found or there are monies owed that people now don’t want to pay… all my affairs are tied up cleanly, so nobody has any unhappy surprises to worry about.”

“That is surprisingly foresighted. However…”

“It doesn’t buy your doodads and thingummies.”

“No, it does not.”

“Well, maybe I have an idea. Not a good one, mind you, but an idea nonetheless.”

“What is it?”

“I know a guy.”

“I would assume you know many. Is it a lover?”

“No. There’s something wrong with your head. One of my team. He’s a sciency type and might know people who could lend you the more expensive equipment or know where there are second-hand examples for sale. I’ll send along the list and see what he can do.”

“It is Anderson?”

“What! How do you know Anderson?”

“Your female subordinate. She mentioned him occasionally during our conversation, though rarely did she mention anyone else with whom you worked. I assumed both she and he held a more prominent position in your attention than did others.”

“Ok, that’s well-reasoned and correct, for the record. I know he has connections in the colleges and various labs who might have leads on your stuff. The fiddly bits I can manage easily enough, but the larger things are going to have to come free or extremely cheaply. Sure you don’t have any kingly jewels or something to help with that? For fuck’s sake, leave your trousers on, you nudist!”

“I merely chose to grant your request. My, as you say, jewels are both kingly and at your disposal.”

“You have a problem.”

“Lust is not a problem.”

“I’m phoning Anderson. Go tend to your lust alone.”

“That has been my course of action to date, yes, however, that is poised to change.”

“It’s not poised to do anything but… poise.”

“Untrue. However, I prefer, this time, to participate in your conversation. You will use the computer so I might monitor the human’s responses and gauge their truthfulness. I also anticipate, if this Anderson has a true interest in science, my presence and willingness, perhaps, to answer a few questions, might prompt him to be more cooperative.”

“That’s highly manipulative.”

“But of course.”

“It’s also very likely to work because Anderson doesn’t tend to go hard on people he knows, but the chance to actually chat with one of you lot and learn some things will put his feet to the fire nicely.”

“Open your line of communications. I will prepare bread and cheese to consume while we converse.”

“You cooking skills are breathtaking.”

“You do not want bread and cheese?”

“I want loads, actually, because I’m famished. Did you intend on bringing me any?”

“No, but I will now for you have suffered a humiliation and that is sufficiently delicious to merit a reward.”

“Just for that, I want the good cheese.”

“Which do you consider the good cheese?”

“Whichever one you like best so you can seethe while I eat it.”

“Petty, Gregory. But it does not dim your sexual allure.”

“I don’t have… I nearly fell into the trap, didn’t I?”

“You did, but there is always another waiting.”

“Wonderful.”

“Yes, I wholeheartedly agree.”

__________

“Ok, this is… well, color me excited is all I have to say!”

“Gregory, I thought this human was supposed to be intelligent. By human standards, that is.”

“I am! I… it’s just such an exciting thing, getting to chat with you. I was absolutely miffed Donovan had the chance and all she used it for was to find out if you and Greg were shagging.”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“That’s what she thinks, too.”

Greg wished someone would invent a device to punch another person through a computer screen, but decided that hitting Anderson with an affronted pout would have to suffice for now.

“Are you two finished?”

“Sorry, Greg. Forgot you were there. In any case, that’s quite the list you have. It might take me some time to find what you need.”

“But you do think you can do it? Mycroft’s things seem a bit… technical.”

“Eventually. I know where to lay hands on some of it now, but I’ll have to ask about for the rest. Want to tell me what all this is for?”

“Your new friend has a science experiment he wants to conduct.”

“Involving EM-based communication, apparently. Ok, why not, I suppose. People mucking around with that is how we got radio and mobile phones, so maybe he can design something new to improve our lives. Or make them worse, depending on your perspective. Budget?”

“Gregory’s money is to be used sparingly. Be aggressive with your negotiations or I shall not be pleased.”

Said with fully bared teeth that both terrified and sparked Anderson’s scientific curiosity.

“Ok… ok, I’ll do my best, I promise. Are your teeth enamel based or some other material? They look bloody strong and I didn’t see any dental work to indicate they have susceptibilities to the usual things our teeth fall victim to.”

Greg leaned back and let the conversation wander on without him, deciding to phone Anderson later when Mycroft was out of hearing range to tell him to be a little more generous with this old DI’s funds than Mycroft would know about, if necessary. He hadn’t thought when he entered the program that maintaining a connection to his old life would be important, but he was wrong. Even a quick chat now and again with people he knew was something he found he valued dearly. They made him feel… part of things. Still with a foot in the world as he knew it. Maybe, too, that he was remembered which was something the bad side of his brain dragged across his thoughts now and again.

He didn’t want to be forgotten. Everyone was, in time, of course, but he didn’t want to leave this world knowing that people had likely already put him out their minds. That they’d moved on and nothing remained of him except a few public records that nobody would ever bother to read. Mycroft didn’t have that option, though. No mechanism to reach out to those he knew to keep his memory alive as long as possible. Not that he really thought Mycroft would accomplish it, of course, but there was also a lot of value in having a goal. A purpose. Hope. In their position, there was nothing wrong with a bit of hope. Even if, at the back of your mind, you knew it was all for naught…


	19. Chapter 19

“Ooh, looks like we’ve got visitors. Or a visitor. Or a John. It’s John.”

Greg continued to peer out the window and waved a cheeky hello to the doctor who’d stepped out of the army vehicle now parked outside the cottage.

“It is far too early for you to be intoxicated, Gregory.”

“It’s never too early for a little tipple when you’re retired but, for your information, I haven’t had a drop. In any case, John’s here.”

“I care not.”

“He’s actually… ha! Looks like he’s our new delivery man.”

That had Mycroft now also looking through the window, his face pressed close to Greg’s. His body, too.

“Those are not our foodstuffs.”

“Nope. I think your gadgets are starting to arrive.”

Something that had made Mycroft anxious an expectant father. The waiting, that is. Anderson had kept them abreast of what he was finding and now, apparently, the fruits of his labors were appearing.

“Good. This has taken far too long for such minor examples of technology.”

“Anderson had to jump through more hoops than a circus dog to get you your stuff! At a price I could afford, that is. At least I put to rest the silly notion that you’re as brazenly nudist as you like to claim. That was a welcome bit of repayment.”

“Your lackey wanted to sell nude photographs of me!”

“Doing sexy things, too. We could have seen loads of money for those. Nobody would have believed they were real, per se, but quality fake Visitor porn goes for a lot on the Internet. Or so I’m told.”

“It was an insult for which I should take his life. I am a king.”

“He doesn’t know that and he came through _without_ resorting to porn, didn’t he? So, hush with the talk of murder or you might spook John.”

Who was just knocking on the door and smiling at the _two_ faces currently watching him through the same small window.

“Can somebody open the door?”

“What’s the secret password?”

“Fuck you?”

“Got it in one.”

Greg wriggled past Mycroft, which was exactly that the evil man wanted, to open the door and give John some one-arm help unloading the delivery trolley and carry the boxes into the cottage.

“Ok, you two do know that there’s a wager at the base as to what all this equipment is for, don’t you?”

“I knew it! They are scurrilously spying on our deliveries.”

Greg nudged Mycroft back which, since Mycroft had once again pressed himself against Greg’s back, the nudging was mostly bum to cock which was not a situation Greg wanted to dwell on at the moment. Though he _would_ dwell on it later and in rather graphic detail.

“Would you stop yelling?”

“No.”

“Wonderful. Want to win a little cash, John? We can give you insider information, for a cut of the winnings.”

“Absolutely! And, for your information, Mycroft, they don’t spy on your mail. They do, however, x-ray packages and do a few other tests, if necessary, to ensure there’s nothing dangerous coming to you. Not everybody is happy with a Visitor presence on this world and there have been a few attempts on your peoples’ lives, though none were successful, thank heavens. So… what’s the story?”

“Mycroft wants to experiment with a few things to pass the time. Build a radio or the like.”

“If he’s going to transmit anything, he’ll need to be cleared for that, but I suspect they’d do it if only to hear what a visitor radio program would be about.”

Mycroft’s snarl was absolutely expected, but even he had to admit he would be curious about such a thing if he was in that situation. Not, of course, that he would admit it in any manner whatsoever.

“More spying.”

“Yes, actually. Of the same sort that people do when they watch those ridiculous reality programs. However, there’s always a desire for whatever information your people are willing to part with.”

“I have no interest in providing you with information to help attack my people.”

“Well, if we _could_ attack, we’d probably want loads of information, but we can’t so it’s all a bit academic. Anyway, the lads in the technical area tossed in some things you might find helpful, tools and the like. I think they’re actually interested to learn what you make with all of this. They tend to be a curious lot and always happy for new ideas.”

“Given the pathetic state of your technology, I am not surprised they want to steal what they can from my work.”

“They actually just like cool gadgets, truth be told, but feel free to imagine what you like. Greg, let me have a look at you while Mycroft unpacks his treasure?”

“Since it means I don’t have to do the unpacking, I’d love it.”

Knowing Mycroft would likely still leave it all for him to do, Greg ushered John to the kitchen, stripping off his shirt on the way for the doctor to have a better view of his various injuries.

“How’s the shoulder?”

“Better. Much better. I’ve not been overusing it, letting it rest as much as possible. It’s not nearly as painful as it was and moves much easier.”

“Good. Keep on with that a few more days, at least. I’m happy with what I’m seeing, though. That includes your back. Healing very nicely. Giving you any bother?”

“Not really. I’ve always been a side or stomach sleeper, so that’s not been an issue and I don’t wear my shirts skintight like those men who are desperate to show off their muscles. Unless I move strangely, I don’t notice the cuts except to pay heed when I’m toweling off after a shower.”

“Then I’ll proclaim you well on the way to putting this behind you. Any… no further little incidents with our friend there to worry about?”

“No. And I feel confident there won’t be. I can’t say he won’t ever try to escape again…”

Because he will. Look at all the boxes of escape materials!

“… but he won’t hurt me in order to accomplish it. He really didn’t want to the first time. Truthfully, he’s been a great deal more attentive to the fact he can do me a lot of harm without much effort.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And now, it seems, Mycroft has a hobby, so that should keep him occupied and not thinking about murder all day.”

“He can do both. Very versatile man, our Mycroft.”

“I stand corrected. What about you, Greg?”

“I’m fairly versatile, too, though not usually in the area of murderous thoughts.”

“I mean having a hobby. Keeping busy?”

“I’ve been catching up on the reading I’ve always said I was going to catch up on. Same with films.”

“Anything more active?”

“Why?”

“Just asking.”

“Out of normal or medical curiosity?”

“Both, actually. It’s easy to… I’ve seen it in retirees before. They become sedentary, don’t indulge in a lot of mental stimulation. It’s not a happy thing.”

“If I was facing another twenty years or so of retirement, I’d say you were right. That’s not me, though.”

“True, but it’s something to keep in mind. For more than the retirement issue, too. How are you doing, overall, Greg? Still feeling alright?”

“I am. I get tired a bit more easily than I did, but I haven’t really noticed anything besides that. Doing my best to eat healthily and we _do_ take a lot of walks for exercise and some clean, fresh air.”

“Mood’s good?”

“I’d say so. No depression, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Partially. But any general mood changes can be a sign that something might be worth investigating.”

“Well, it’s not going to change the outcome, so I think that’s a minor worry.”

“Nothing about living your best life is minor worry, Greg. You have as much right to be healthy and happy as anyone, so don’t ignore signals and possible squander time where those two things _are_ yours to be enjoyed.”

“You’re awfully dark today, John? Something going on you want to talk about?”

“Nope. I just have the advantage of having seen loads of people go through these sorts of things and both the successful and unsuccessful strategies they use to deal with them. Besides, I have my little checklist to cover and must see all those tiny boxes checked or I’m sent to military prison which I’d rather avoid, than you very much.”

“That I can actually believe. The military always impressed me as being something that prized checklists and seeing them followed. Probably done in triplicate, too. Thanks, though, John. I know you’re just doing your job; I wasn’t trying to be an arse.”

“Why are you discussing your arse with John?”

Oh good, Mycroft was here.

“I wasn’t. Done unpacking your treasures?”

“That is your responsibility. I did, however, stack them in a location that shall not slip your notice lest you forget your duties.”

“I really didn’t expect anything more. Thank you.”

“Yes, it _was_ considerate of me. When is John leaving so you can begin?”

“When we’re done with our visit. I’m not in a hurry. John?”

“No, not at all. Always nice to get out and about, stop in here and there for a chat. Mycroft, any medical things you want me to look at before Greg and I engage in our professional-quality visiting?”

“The thought of you violating my body is revolting.”

“Ok, with that upsetting thought in my head… Greg, how about a nice cup of tea on this blustery day?”

“The wind is not significant. You are lying and should leave.”

John smirked in a way that annoyed Greg because it was a smirk that hit the target square in the center.

“Why? Did I interrupt a romantic moment?”

“No, and that is not a relationship appropriate between me and Gregory.”

Oh, ok, that was fairly straightforward and somewhat a relief.

“A sexual one is an entirely different matter, though it is certainly not your business that we engage in sex when we are not being spied upon by you.”

That fucker…

“Wrong. We’re not having sex and you know it, you prat.”

“Yet.”

“John, I need a tranquilizer gun and the strongest darts you’ve got.”

“Nope. Sex is good exercise and I believe I just gave a rather eloquent speech on that particular topic. As a reminder, I was in favor of it.”

“There. You now have medical approval of our physical intimacy. We may begin as soon as this human is gone. Which will be _soon_.”

John’s impersonation of an affronted matron was truly top-notch.

“Why I never. I give your sexy fun times a thumbs up and get the sailor’s elbow as my reward. See if I do you any more favors, Mycroft.”

“Leaving _is_ a favor, so you have already undercut your threat.”

Sensing this could go on quite awhile, Greg decided to step in and play peacekeeper.

“Mycroft, behave. John is nice enough to bring your geegaws and you’re being an imperial git. Why don’t you have a seat and chat with us?”

“I have better things to do with my time.”

“Such as?”

Mycroft leaned down, placed his lips fractions of an inch from Greg’s ear and muttered in low tones while John watched Greg’s face turn a rosy shade of aroused before the Visitor snatched a Coke from the refrigerator and strut out of the cottage.

“Good god, Greg. What’d he say?”

“Something I shan’t be repeating.”

“Shan’t?”

“It was filthy enough to warrant being fancy.”

“Oh. Well, remember what I said about living you best life. There’s a lot of best to be had from filthy sex with an eager participant.”

Greg’s rude noise made John grin, but he privately hoped Greg would consider a bit of tawdry tangling because sex _was_ good exercise, as well as a boost to the mood, self-confidence, outlook… given Greg’s last series of tests weren’t indicating any slowing of his cancer, all of those things would make this time of his life the best it could be. As a doctor, and a growing friend, it was what he wished most for the man currently glaring at him while trying to wrestle a pesky erection back to sleep…

__________

“Hmmmmm….”

Looking up from his book, Greg peered at the goings on at the kitchen table and quickly decided he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it.

“Is that a good hmmmm or a bad hmmmmm?

“In and of itself, it is non-committal, however, I believe I am making encouraging progress on my device.”

Which had turned their cottage into an electronics shop over the past week. There were bits and pieces everywhere and Greg had to watch where he stepped because fiddly bits of metal and plastic were as bad as Legos for stepping on barefoot.

“Are you sure? You haven’t used every single scrap of spare parts the military base had on hand yet.”

Which was something Greg found oddly touching. The various technicians at the base were thrilled to help with whatever this ultimately would be, sending materials, offering suggestions, even fabricating a few elements because they had genuine enthusiasm for the work they did and were decent people who knew Mycroft’s intended fate so wanted to do what they could to make his time on Earth enjoyable and productive. There was a lot of shit in this world, but a lot of good, too, if you cared to look for it.

“Given I have to construct both something I need and something to conceal what I am _actually_ devising, it requires a rather materials-rich approach. However, I was able to assimilate their function for efficiency’s sake and it proved easier than I anticipated. I have set it, now, to run preliminary tests and should have results by nightfall.”

“Good! I didn’t realize, though, an electronics degree was something you needed to be king.”

“This dabbling is mere child’s play. The difficulty lies in the crudity of your resources.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s keeping you busy.”

And not trying to woo me like some Victorian cad.

“Disrobe.”

Shit.

“No. Why?”

“I desire to swim.”

“That not only doesn’t involve me, it doesn’t involve me naked.”

“It does when you are accompanying me.”

“Wrong.”

“The pestiferous doctor indicated you should begin employing your arm more forcefully and allowing it exercise.”

“In the form of stretches.”

“You stretch your arm when you swim.”

“And use a lot of force to push yourself about in the water, which is probably not indicated for continued healing right now.”

“We shall not be competing, so you may simply have a leisurely swim and provide stretches for your arm. While naked.”

“You’re generally naked enough for us both, so have your swim and maybe I’ll start on some bread. All that kneading will be just the ticket for exercising and stretching my shoulder.”

“Why do you fear nudity?”

“I don’t, it’s just I don’t… we’ve had this conversation before.”

“And I still fail to understand your reticence. However, I am in no mood to argue. You may do as you have suggested previously, sit in a boat and attempt to entice fish into your grasp, while I swim.”

“Fishing? That’s… you’ll row us out?”

“If you wish.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, actually. It’s a nice day and even if I just lounge about reading waiting for a fish to tug on my line, that would be a nice way to pass an hour or two.”

“Then prepare yourself. I will finish calibrating my device.”

Greg thought a moment, then nodded and set off to grab a few items in case it grew nippy on the water and began packing nibbles and beverages to take with them in case their time grew a bit longer than anticipated. It seemed a rule that being on or near the water increased the appetite and he didn’t want to be caught out with nothing to throw into Mycroft’s maw if he became peckish. Of course, knowing Mycroft, he might just catch a fish and eat it raw, but he’d probably demand jam to spread on it and be a complete bastard when there was none to be found.

__________

Honestly, Greg fully expected this to happen, but he still felt obligated to point out facts that supported basic human decency. Though they weren’t being tossed out at an actual human.

“No law exists saying you have to swim starkers, you know. There _are_ clothes especially designed for swimming. Which we have!”

“I know. I do not care.”

With his clothes now removed, Mycroft simply rolled out of the boat and into the water, pausing a moment at he surfaced to address his frowning shipmate.

“Will you again behave disgracefully if I am not visible for some time?”

“You mean, will I show concern for your safety when you haven’t breached the surface after too long a time underwater? Yes, I will. _But_ , I’ll extend that ‘too long a time’ beyond what I might normally and… is there a way I can contact you to ask for a quick peek so I know you’re ok?”

“Use an oar to tap rhythmically on the water’s surface.”

“You’ll hear that?”

“Very likely.”

“That works, then. Have fun.”

Greg was talking to the water halfway through his words, but continued on for principle’s sake and because he wasn’t entirely certain Mycroft couldn’t hear him anyway. The Visitors definitely had abilities that humans lacked, along with their flagrant disregard for clothing. Or maybe that was just Mycroft. Nudist or not, though, he had to admit that Mycroft had taken pains to implement John’s advice about physical activity whenever the opportunity presented. Their walks were more frequent and a good bit of time was spent searching the shoreline for small treasures like shells, lovely rocks, interesting bits of wood or other curiosities that gave a little thrill when they crossed their path.

Given Mycroft himself had little interest in that, the activity was for _him_. Mycroft was an enormous headache, at times, but he’d started doing quite a bit to subtly show some level of care and concern. He’d complain about being left to freeze in the cottage, but do it while bringing in a huge armload of wood for their fire. The cupboards had been rearranged so it was less effort to take down heavier items. Laundry was tossed on the floor near the washing machine, which was annoying, but it saved a trip into Mycroft’s room to carry it out. The wine was opened for dinner before he even asked, any forgotten hat or scarf for their walk was immediately noticed… small things, all in all, but they said a lot about Mycroft’s change of heart about their relationship.

Now, though, his helpful devil man was cavorting among the fishes and _he_ had a beautiful day in a not-leaky boat, with a good book, a fishing pole and a feeling that all was right in the world. It wasn’t, of course, but choosing to ignore reality in favor of contentment wasn’t always a bad thing, at least for a little while…

__________

“That’s a fish.”

“Your zoological identification skills are astounding.”

“Why do you have a fish in your hand? And… are those teeth marks?”

“It was easier to hold it in my mouth while swimming.”

“Why would you put a fish in your mouth in the first place? Why do you _have_ a fish?”

“I predicted you would have no success catching one yourself.”

“That’s harsh.”

“How many have you caught?”

“I… well, none. But, I’ve only been trying for a little over an hour, so…”

“I will catch more so we have a suitable quantity for our meal.”

“No.”

“That was a petulant refusal.”

“Maybe.”

“If I return this fish to the water and spear it on your hook, will that be more acceptable?”

“No.”

Mycroft tossed the fish back into the water, where it quickly swam away from the terrifying sea monster that caught it.

“We are not having fish today, are we?”

“I… honestly, the few times I’ve been fishing, I haven’t caught a bloody thing and been happy about it. I think it’s more about relaxing and enjoying a nice day out than actually bringing home dinner. Now I know, though, that I can just send you out to harvest fish like a piscine Reaper Man, when I’m over my strop, we’ll have a delicious fish supper.”

“And that day is not today?”

“No, today is Greg’s being a ninny day and requires more fresh air, sun and relaxation to kick the ninnyism in the bollocks.”

“Very well. I will assist with that.”

No, it wasn’t manly to shriek like a child when Mycroft executed a balletic maneuver to rise out of the water, lift Greg’s body out of the boat like the shrieking child in question and deposit him in the water, fully clothed.

“What did you do that for?”

“Relaxation. Now, we shall divest you of your garments…”

“No!”

“You wish to remain in them while we enjoy the water?”

“No, but I also don’t want to be in the water enjoying the water.”

“You admit it is enjoyable, then.”

“I… I forgot what I said.”

“Pfft.”

Between being undressed by Mycroft and fighting being undressed by Mycroft, Greg opted for the less bothersome option since his brain was reminding him that swimming naked wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with, though mostly from his youth… mostly… and it really _was_ a nice day for this sort of thing. The water was bracing, but not frigid and the sun was actually shining brightly, so… fine. Why not do a bit of naked paddling? Oh no…

“What are you doing?”

“You asserted your arm’s condition precluded you from the intended enjoying of the water. I am rectifying that.”

“You’re… ok, this is…”

Mycroft slid in front of Greg, wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist, then gently bent them backwards while his wings extended so he floated at the surface, with Greg lying face down on top of him.

“Now, you may splash about as you desire.”

“You are not a surfboard!”

“I consider myself more of a raft. Note that the indignant kicking you are affecting is propelling us, though not in a particularly directed manner. I shall rest and you may enjoy yourself however you see fit. Do feel free to turn, at times, so you receive solar radiation equally across your body. That, for some reason, seems important to humans.”

Greg sputtered with even greater indignation but took note that Mycroft didn’t have to do much to keep them afloat and it _was_ rather pleasant to simply lay here, cock rubbing notwithstanding, and enjoy the sun and playing in the water. And, he had a sneaking suspicion that if he slid off a bit to dangle and do a bit of actual paddling, Mycroft would wait like this for him to crawl back on.

Ok, there were benefits to knowing someone with personal flotation wings. And who didn’t mind sharing them with another person. Provided, apparently, that person was well and truly naked…

__________

Given he’d spent the day sunbathing and being an enormous do-nothing on Mycroft’s willing body, Greg was surprisingly tired and hungry when they finally made their naked way back to the cottage but neither bed nor food seemed in the cards.

“I fail to see your objection.”

“I had a glorious time today, Mycroft. Really, I enjoyed it immensely and would do it again in an instant, but I am _not_ showering with you.”

“You just experienced a prolonged experience of water and nudity and, now, you balk at more?”

“It’s different.”

‘I think not.”

“It is and that little leer on your face tells me very distinctly you know that, too.”

“But Gregory… you need to be cleaned and it is obvious the day fatigued you.”

“Good job with the insincere sincerity, but try some hand-wringing next time to really put some oomph in your performance. In any case, I’ve got more than enough energy for a quick shower, thank you very much. I tell you what, I’ll go first while you get a pot of water on for some pasta. Then I’ll take over the cooking when I’m done.”

Mycroft took a step closer to Greg, gazing into his eyes.

“I suspect that we could make the water boil in the shower ourselves.”

He was using the tone! That gorgeous tone of voice that married so well with his gorgeous body. The bastard. Not that a certain traitorous cock was on board with the bastard designation. It thought all of this was positively splendid and anxious to see where it would all lead. The man was so fucking sexy…

… and kind. Surprisingly. And intelligent. Clever, too. Funny! When he wanted to be. Arrogant and a tremendous brat. But compassionate. Strong. In more than one way. And weirdly respected boundaries when the line was drawn, though he kept watch like a hawk for when the line got smudged by the person who was now throwing caution to the wind and leaning in…

The warmth of Mycroft’s lips was the perfect thing to start heating Greg’s water-chilled body and the press of that body against Mycroft’s skin, with Mycroft’s arms circling him, felt like the sunshine he’d relished beating down on him just moments ago. The man was fiery warm in every way. The heat of his body was beautifully matched by the warm, spicy taste of his mouth and scent of his skin. And Greg found himself wanting to fall deeply into that warmth that was already threading into his bones in the most welcome way possible…

“Your passions are intoxicating when they are wakened, Gregory.”

“It’s time they were let run loose, I think.”

“Oh, I agree. Shall we…”

A sharp, chaos of sound broke through their reverie but Greg was more startled by the look on Mycroft’s face than the violent interruption.

“Mycroft?” 

“Dwv*k%_tndd@#vzsh&yfl!”

“Little help?”

“That is my brother.”

Now it was two startled looks facing the makeshift communications device which was barking out another message in what Greg was now recognizing as a load of static mixed with Mycroft’s native language.

“It worked!”

“A… apparently.”

“His timing, though, is for shit.”

“Welcome to my life, Gregory. It will only become more ludicrous from this point forward…”


	20. Chapter 20

Greg listened for a time, somewhat dumbfounded, at the harsh stream of Visitor language going into and coming out of the cobbled-together communication device, then finally had a shower and dressed before settling back into his chair to let the conversation wash over him while he began a new book. Then had tea. And a nap.

Which ended with a ‘whdfksrslyno’ as he was jostled awake by a large, strong but surprisingly gentle hand.

“Gregory, you must eat.”

“What? What time is it?”

“Somewhat after 11 o’clock.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Wait. Why am I sorry?”

“I am more unknowing than you on that score.”

“Ok, shaking out the sleep from my head… I guess I was more tired than I thought from our swim. And, I suppose I’m sorry that I wasn’t there if you needed something, given how busy you were. So, sorry for that and what happened? Did you… what happened with your brother?”

Mycroft had a seat and let one of his very rare smiles show on his lips.

“Much the same as always. A great deal of ridiculous nattering, complaining, insulting and posturing before any appreciable information was pulled from his infantile head. As I suspected, he is infuriated that his device failed to operate as predicted and trying both to take responsibility, which is inordinately difficult for him, and scatter blame about like the food you strew for the birds that visit our cottage, which is fantastically easy for him. The matter is exacerbated by the fact I am not there in person to both reassure him as to his inevitable success with his endeavor and act as a focus to deflect his self-flagellation. Moreover, of course, he is having to conceal, as best as possible, my absence from daily court functions. It is not a highly unusual thing that I not concern myself with certain mundanities of the day-to-day workings of government but too long an absence _will_ raise questions.”

“I’d forgotten about that bit. Does he know where his portal maker went wrong?”

“He says he is perfectly knowledgeable about his miscalculation and can easily rectify the problem.”

“Meaning he has no fucking clue.”

“Precisely. To an extent, at least. I suspect he has some idea of where he erred but is unclear, at this point, how to remedy the situation. Sherlock, however, is nothing if not persistent and will aggressively pursue the situation until a solution is found. Oddly, my presence here facilitates that task. There were things we did not know about your world that, now, I do and can share with my brother to aid his work. I am hopeful that will speed his progress as I am not possessed of unlimited time to benefit from his success.”

Greg’s expression changed into something Mycroft thought both sad and angry.

“No, you don’t, do you? At least you don’t have other concerns to occupy your time. You can focus your attention on this specific problem and not be distracted.”

“True. There is rarely a benefit to tedium, but here I find one laid in my path.”

“Don’t think it will absolve you from kitchen duties, though.”

“I do not, for there are no duties _to_ absolve.”

“Funny, funny, funny. You’re not a king here, you know.”

There was lightness returned to Greg’s voice, but Mycroft could not miss the lingering traces of some melancholy that was difficult to hear. Atypically, for him, he felt the impulse to learn more.

“What troubles you, Gregory?”

“Troubles? Nothing really.”

“You lie.”

“Lots.”

“Such as now.”

“Nope, again, not really. I just remembered that you are on a clock, same as me. It’s easy to forget, you know? I always have my little tick tock tapping in my ear, but I forget about yours. I’ll assist however I can, don’t think I won’t. I was never the best at science but I _am_ good at pursuing leads. Getting information out of people, too. Don’t hesitate to ask if there’s something I can help with.”

Mycroft scowled darkly and Greg felt his own slightly-false smile falter slightly under the weight of that darkness.

“You should not speak so lightly of your demise.”

“No matter how I speak of it, it’s not going to change a thing, so why be stroppy about it? Waste of good mental energy, that is, and I have little enough of that to spare on a good day.”

Greg’s new, cheeky smile earned him one of Mycroft’s most impressive snorts which, though, morphed into a stalking to the kitchen area to procure a hunk of fresh bread helpfully topped with a hearty spoonful of the roasted vegetables Greg made for the previous night’s dinner.

“Eat this. Then, you will rest.”

“I’ll eat that but I’ll ask first if you need anything before I toddle off to sleep because I suspect, this little interlude of clarity notwithstanding, I’ll be lost to the world until long past sunrise.”

“No.”

“Alright. Then I shall feast on this lovely repast and drag my saggy arse off to bed! Is your brother going to call again tonight?”

“No, we have set a time tomorrow for his next communication, somewhat early in the evening, at least, for me. I anticipate that your military cannot detect our communication, let alone penetrate our conversation, however, I would rather not place our contacts too close together and potentially alert them as to something amiss that requires investigation.”

“Smart. Are you able to call Sherlock from here yourself?”

“This first attempt was a sloppy, wide net approach that luckily made proper contact. Fortunately, the data gathered from the success should be useful in refining my broadcasting strategy to facilitate initiating contact, as well as receiving it. However, I have a league of concepts to research before Sherlock and I next speak and will direct my time towards those, at least, for now.”

“Still sounding very smart. Not that I expect anything different. God, but this is good. It’s a joy to have the time to actually cook something besides beans on toast or a quick fry up. I’ll have to remember cold roasted vegetable sandwiches as a good choice the next time we decide to take a lunch with us when we hike up to the cliffs and lord our presence over the birds.”

Mycroft pursed his lips and stole the food from Greg’s hand, popping it into his own mouth and starting to chew thoughtfully.

“Oh, I see. You telling me I need to eat is code for _you_ needing to eat, but wanting to taunt me beforehand as a savory starter.”

“There was little protein in this. You require protein to maintain muscle tissue.”

“My muscle tissue was very happy having some tasty roasted veg. Now it’s enjoying a light diet of air. I don’t think it came out with the best hand in that deal.”

“I have also noticed you become flatulent when you eat too much bread close to retiring for the evening.”

“I do not. Ok, yes, I do, however the concern level here for you is naught.”

“Untrue.”

“Very true.”

“I shall be sleeping with you tonight, so it is exceptional concern. My sense of smell is highly acute.

Greg stared while his brain warred with itself over whether that statement should be considered good or bad. Not the smell bit, of course, which was still simply rude.

“You’re sleeping where?”

“With you.”

“I… no?”

“Incorrect.”

Casualties quickly were amassing from Greg’s brain war with injured and bleeding brain cells lying throughout his cranial cavity with scarcely flickering signs of life.

“Ummmmm… ok, I realize that we were… moving in a direction before Sherlock phoned in, but it’s stupidly late and even you have to admit the mood is broken for now, so…”

“Mood is irrelevant.”

“Not for sex it isn’t.”

“I did not indicate we were having sex. Though, I confess the thought is very much one I endorse and am now considering most ardently.”

“Be that as it may, you said you were sleeping with me. I cannot, for any reason whatsoever, conceive of a reason you’d propose sleeping with me except for shagging.”

“Your muscles are obviously fatigued and stiff from today’s, admittedly minimal, exertion. A source of heat is beneficial for that condition. There. You have your non-sexual reason.”

“That’s… yeah, ok, that’s actually medically true, but I had a nice hot shower and the blankets here are top quality, so I’m sorted for that, thank you.”

“Blankets do not generate heat, they simply act as insulators to retain your own emitted heat near your body. I am both a radiant and conductive heat source, so that is a more efficient method for providing your tissues with the heat they require.”

While the generals in Greg’s brain army conferenced as to their next strategic salvo, Mycroft simply leaned in and kissed Greg’s lips with a well-remembered heat that had Greg moaning softly in its cozy embrace.

“The matter is settled.”

“No!”

“Incorrect. Your involuntary responses spoke most honestly. We will rest, likely with sex beforehand, then have a meal rich with protein. That should promote rapid recovery of your system from recent, draining experiences.”

“Did you bump your head and now think you’re John?”

“What a ghastly thought. You do not desire to have sex with John.”

If he said he didn’t want to have sex with Mycroft either the sourness of the lie would curdle his tongue. But, there was sex and there was sleeping and……….. yeah, not enough brain cells left without bandages or riding off in teeny ambulances for advanced and complicated surgery to begin finishing that thought. Must send in reinforcements.

“That’s true, but consider that my bedroom is at a temperature I prefer, which is fucking cold for you and will just make you peevish.”

“Yes, it is a sacrifice but one that can be ameliorated through contact with _your_ flesh and extra blankets to preserve my own body heat. A simple solution to your clearly-concocted problem.”

Shit.

“Ok, but…”

Mycroft shook his head and lifted Greg from his chair, careful to avoid any points of injury and carried him first to the bath where a steely, black-eyed glare had Greg fuming, but taking his traditional before-bed wee then, with as much dignity as he could muster, marching to his bedroom to begin hunting a pair of pyjamas.

“Unnecessary. We shall sleep nude. It shall make both sex and heat conduction more efficient.”

“Wrong to the greatest possible level of wrongness.”

“Your prudery manifests at the most inconvenient times.”

“I am willing to sleep, just sleep, with you but I want my pyjamas.”

“You may hold them as I have seen children of your world do with toy animals.”

“I’m not using my jimjams as a teddy.”

“Then you have no need of them in any fashion. Excellent.”

Greg threw up his hands, then winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder that reminded him what a stupid person he could be at times.

“Yes… you still require healing and heat will promote that successfully. Disrobe.”

“I… how about we compromise?”

Mycroft’s answer was to undress himself almost faster than Greg’s eyes could follow, then start working his long fingers on the buttons of Greg’s jumper.

“Do you even know what compromise means, you evil bugger?”

‘It is a word in my vocabulary, yes.”

“Positively swimming in evil.”

“Can vocabulary be evil? We may debate the idea once we are in bed. Naked.”

Said with enough purring sexuality that Greg’s battered brain cells began to drag themselves upright, adjust their bandages and remind him that life was short, his especially, and in-bed nakedness with a willing participant should not be dismissed out of hand. Or out of trousers.

“If… and I said IF… I sleep with you, will you at least _guarantee_ that we see some sleep tonight? Not that there’s much night left, truthfully, but I could definitely stand with a bit of rest to my credit before tomorrow.”

“I will guarantee _some_ sleep.”

“Will I just get annoyed it I make note of how you said the ‘some’ piece, as if making it clear you meant a span of time no longer than three minutes in duration?”

“Yes.”

“Marvelous.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Said with another sultry purr that made Greg’s squadron of brain cells nod to each other at their job well done and lay back down to recuperate while other parts of their owner’s anatomy took up the charge.

“I _do_ need sleep, Mycroft.”

“Humans have many needs. Let us tend to them in turn, shall we…”

Stepping behind Greg, Mycroft carefully eased off the jumper and turtleneck Greg was wearing, then compensated for the heat loss by pressing his own body close and wrapping his arms around Greg’s torso, taking time to softly nuzzle Greg’s neck before running a line of kisses down and along Greg’s broad shoulder.

“Your skin is pleasing, human.”

“Oh? Ok good…”

Not that Greg had much idea what he was good about because this Visitor had a way with human skin that was positively sinful. And the way he precisely applied pressure with those sharp teeth so the sensation was cock-stiffening… beyond sinful, indeed.

“And you respond beautifully to pleasure.”

Something that was making Greg’s trousers uncomfortably tight. However, that pressure was quickly relieved by a few motions of Mycroft’s fingers which were greeted by a soft, deep sigh from the man being tended to so expertly. Greg actually suspected a king would _not_ be terribly good at sex, since whether the excelled or failed nobody would be brave enough to tell him the truth, but this king knew what he was doing. And doing a lot of it, too. Though he could have done without being lifted like a doll so his slippers and socks could be removed to let his trousers slide to the floor followed, after the quick work of Mycroft’s free hand, his underpants.

“I am capable of undressing myself, you know.”

“I do, however, it pleases me to disable potential avenues of complaint or moans of self-committed injury that would interfere with our revelry. The only moans I wish to hear are of a very different sort.”

Accompanying his words with a sliding of his hand along Greg’s flank to caress his bottom got Mycroft exactly the prize he was expecting.

“You have an admirable voice for making your lusts known, Gregory. I am very anxious to hear it fully when you are overcome with arousal.”

A situation rapidly approaching as Mycroft’s hand move from Greg’s arse to stroke it firmly, but slowly, while Greg’s back arched into the equally firm, slow bite Mycroft was applying to the base of his neck. Everything about Mycroft was hot, powerful, savage and focused which, apparently, was a combination Greg’s body gave its utmost approval.

“Yes… such a delightful body. So in need of my attention.”

Not a thing in that speech was Greg going to contest since he _did_ have a delightful body, for a middle-aged, slightly sedentary man, and that body _was_ in need of attention. It had been awhile…

Mycroft growled low into Greg’s ear as he quickened the pace of his hand, adoring that Greg’s skin was growing flush and his breath was coming quick and shallow.

“Beautifully responsive to a skilled hand. Like a kznox*dv%shn@t, I play you and you sing the song I desire.”

The words were lost to Greg as _he_ was lost in the swirling currents of sexual pleasure coursing through his veins. He normally had a mature man’s stamina but tonight he was fifteen again and rapidly approaching the delicious culmination of Mycroft’s talented care.

“Perfect, Gregory. I want to witness your release, so do not tarry and deny me my spoils.”

With a harder bite than before, Mycroft set his teeth into Greg’s flesh, not quite breaking the skin, but thoroughly breaking whatever resolve Greg had to make this experience last. With a harsh shout, Greg came thickly and messily over Mycroft’s hand, shuddering at the almost demonic chucking in his ear as he fought to regain his equilibrium.

“Exquisite, Gregory. And…”

Licking his fingers clean, Mycroft laughed again at Greg’s snort of disgust.

“… surprisingly flavorful.”

“You’re disgusting. But _fucking_ amazing.”

“That I am.”

“Prideful, too, but I’m ok with that if it’s merited. That was… if I say amazing again, you’ll think me stupider than you do already, so I’ll settle for fantastic.”

“That will do. It certainly is accurate.”

“Bastard. I think I’d like to hear something besides arrogance from that mouth of yours. Care to make that a bit easier for me?”

Greg turned and looked Mycroft square in the eye, employing the sultry sex grin that he hadn’t brought out of its box in what seemed like a decade. More like three decades, actually, since this was the one he splashed on like cologne when he was certain his night was going to end with someone in his bed. Or their bed. Or a bench in the park. That had been a strange night…

“Of course. An excellent suggestion.”

Mycroft didn’t bother with any semblance of modesty, taking Greg’s hand and placing it directly on his own cock which was pressed firmly into said hand while the Visitor returned Greg’s sultry sex grin in kind.

“You are a gorgeously-provided man, Mycroft.”

“Most definitely.”

“And I do enjoy the taste of the gorgeously-provided.”

Greg dropped to his knees, running his hands down Mycroft’s thighs and nuzzling the strongly-erect cock which was as dark red and glistening as a garnet. Or a plump, ripe cherry that could never be as sweet on the tongue as the rigid flesh it was emulating.

“Yes…. your tongue, Gregory. I relish its… kzdn*sh#typxxkxx^wrt!”

Greg grinned around the thick cock sliding into his mouth and hummed happily at the forceful hand gripping his hair in lustful abandon. It had been a long time since he’d sucked a cock, but he remembered enough to know that Mycroft’s was a particularly spectacular example of the breed and… not entirely human. The texture a touch off, harder than a human’s would be and it throbbed faintly with a slow, steady cadence that didn’t match with the Visitor’s heartbeat.

And it was positively delicious…

“Gr… Gregory… your mouth… rtwh@kklnd&zzyxpnd... your mouth…”

Using his hands as well as his mouth to lavish attention on the man gripping his hair and making more feral noises than words with his lips, Greg used every sense to gauge Mycroft’s responses to both match his technique to fuel his lover’s passion and keep him on the precipice’s edge until Mycroft was growling and snarling with a ferocity that would have terrified anyone else but the former DI who, instead, wore it as a badge of honor. Quickening his motions and using his hands to massage Mycroft’s muscular arse while he drew Mycroft’s cock into this mouth as deeply as he could, Greg kept his tongue merrily stroking the glass-hard flesh until a viciously-hissed roar erupted, along with a fiercely hot, thin stream of fluid that tasted very happily like deeply roasted grains or nuts, which matched well with the darker, smoky aspects of the man Greg was pleasuring. Therefore, continuing to lick the tasty goodness off of Mycroft’s still hard cock the polar opposite of a hardship, especially since it earned him a few more delectable moments with his hair clutched tightly in one of Mycroft’s fists, while the other hand leisurely ran fingers through the very same locks.

“S4$nnzyk@ldv ddrxxpo()bcas^, Gregory.”

“I can’t be certain, but that sounded like you enjoyed yourself.”

“Enjoyed?”

The rich, rumble of laughter that accompanied Greg being lifted from his knees for a long, slow kiss was a very suitable answer to Mycroft’s own question.

“A new pleasure for me, Gregory. And one I will expect to experience often.”

“You don’t suck cock on your world?”

Mycroft smiled and reminded Greg of the suite of savage teeth decorating his mouth.

“Oh. Right.”

“Lick, yes. And lips are a delightful sexual tool, however, it is a touch dangerous to do more and… yes, I find it exceedingly delightful that you are not similarly dentally provided.”

“One thing you recognize that is better about my people than yours.”

“Do cherish your solitary data point.”

“I will! But, if I may return the compliment, those teeth of yours are rather cherished by my skin. You do wield them well to make my cock happy.”

“I am very deft at using my teeth for a myriad of things, some, most certainly, to your benefit. I shall demonstrate later once your body is ready to gain another erection.”

“That’ll be awhile, I’m afraid. Takes a bit longer than it did when I was a lad.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Mycroft’s smirking didn’t make much sense until Greg noticed his system seemed… tingly. And aroused. Rather pleasantly so.

“Ok, why are you smiling like that?”

“Can you not tell?”

“If you’re going to say that your manly fluids are some form of aphrodisiac…”

“That is exactly what I am going to say. Supposedly, the effect on humans is somewhat… notable.”

Nerve-tinglingly notable. In that special way that made it seem like every nerve in your body ran directly to your cock.

“Oh, you bastard.”

“Fear not, Gregory, I promise you _will_ receive your agreed-upon three minutes of sleep.”

“We did not agree to that!”

“Splendid. Three additional minutes for you to pleasure me.”

“What can’t that be three additional minutes for _you_ to pleasure _me_?”

“Pleasure is not a mutually-exclusive concept.”

“That… ok, that’s true. Can we, at least, do our mutualling in bed now? I’m getting a little… I was going to say chilly, but actually… is it getting warm in here?”

Mycroft took Greg in another kiss and let his hands indulge themselves with Greg’s body which _was_ , merrily, growing warmer to his touch. The human was a highly pleasing specimen and his oral talents were… beyond description. There would be a great deal of mutual pleasuring in their future, however, he would ensure Gregory saw proper rest and care in between those luxurious interludes. There was no sense overtaxing the poor man. It was terribly difficult to enjoy the sexual talents of a king when one is nodding off to sleep and it was only fair that Gregory be allowed to enjoy himself to the fullest. After all, one might be a king, but one did strive to be a benevolent and equitable one whenever possible. Kept the pesky rebellions at bay and Gregory was undoubtedly a man of his own talents when it came to enacting acts of rebellion. He could fail to put potatoes and Coke on the grocery list, for instance, and bring a veritable kingdom to its knees…


	21. Chapter 21

Mycroft’s body was indescribable. What it felt like under these old, rough hands. What it could do. How it made _this_ tired old body feel. All that old didn’t _feel_ so old with a particular Visitor treating it like it… wasn’t. Like it was young and vibrant and desirable.

Which was how great sex should make you feel. Like all the stars aligned to shower you with gifts, despite the fact, this time, they were bundled together into a single, very red package. And, yes, it was reassuring that even Mycroft could be shagged to exhaustion. It had been a limp, weak argument on both their parts to decide who was getting a final damp cloth for a bit of cleaning up and the surprise was naught that Mycroft’s unsteady wobble to the loo was followed by a hard crash into sleep once the main layer of sweat and other fluids was cleaned from his skin.

It had been years since he’d had a night like that. Sex with someone who enjoyed it for the sheer delight of sensation and, importantly, wasn’t selfish about the whole affair. Made certain you were taken care of properly, as well. Multiple, mind-shattering times. Now, though… the other needs of the flesh beckoned and a quick wee before a large mug of strong tea and some toast was very much in order. Mycroft looked dead to the world now but there was little doubt he’d wake ravenous and eager for his personal chef to present him with breakfast fit for a king. Ha! That old expression really was the case here but, fortunately, it could be satisfied easily enough with solid, tasty food as long as there was enough of it on His Majesty’s plate.

Greg grinned widely at the spring in his step after he crawled out from under the blankets and threw on warm clothes. Today was going to be a grinning day, he sadly suspected. He’d have a stupid grin on his face all day and never hear the end of it from a certain person who was still sleeping under enough blankets that would make it necessary to hire an archaeologist to excavate him before he woke and did the deed himself.

And, yes, he laughed at himself in the bathroom mirror, since he was still grinning like a loon and actually did a little dance from the loo to the kitchen get the kettle on and cut several thick slabs of bread, one saved aside to eat untoasted because it smelled so lovely and with a spot of butter it was the perfect ‘while the kettle’s on’ nibble to enjoy while gazing out the window at the wild, gorgeous sea that was looking especially beautiful this morning. Everybody was happy, it seemed! Even Poseidon was having a good day and that could only bode glad tidings for their own tiny household.

“Sdd&nk%fftz$j%nkdd pqryy*b@mjzztx^cw#Kklfd!”

That didn’t sound like Poseidon. That sounded like Mycroft’s brother. The question was what to do about it. The lad wasn’t supposed to make contact until tonight and…

“FPfh$ld#xxvb&nldqn!”

… it sounded rather important. Or just demanding. That would fit Mycroft’s little brother well, too. Best see if the boy understood the Queen’s English.

“Ummmm… hello. Mycroft’s not available right now. Can I take a message and have him ring you back?”

“Who are you?”

The Queen’s English wins the day!

“Greg. That is, I’m the fellow living here with your brother.”

“The one you amusingly call Mycroft.”

“I’m working on the real thing, but language study wasn’t ever a strength of mine.”

“I thought your name was Grank?”

“What! Oh, that fucker. No, my name is not Grank. It’s Greg. And he’s going to pay for that when he’s awake.”

“He is asleep? Mycroft never sleeps. He haunts the halls at all hours, dithering and droning about this or that matter of ruling.”

“Well, he’s asleep now, but if it’s important I’ll wake him for you.”

Greg’s brain was finally able to push a bit of his sexual euphoria out of the way to properly function in a critical manner and it realized two things. First, he was speaking to someone on a different world than this one and that the line of communication was a fair bit clearer than before.

“Typical. When I require his assistance, he transforms into a brk$ndtv*czlqq@d.”

“What’s that?”

“A rotund, lazy creature that spends its time sleeping and eating.”

“Oh, well, that sounds more like me than him, actually. Your brother is certainly not rotund, though I will credit he can show a lazy side when he has a mind for it. Nothing wrong with that, of course, given the circumstances.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“Because he’s….”

My lover? Yeah, not a thing for baby-brother ears.

“… my friend.”

“False.”

“Why would you say that?”

“He has no friends.”

“Kings usually don’t, I admit, at least not real friends, but he’s not in a position to be a king here and… the rules are different.”

“False.”

“Need some help with your language skills, lad? You need one of those thesauruses to research synonyms so you don’t sound repetitive?”

“My command of your rudimentary language is flawless. There is simply no reason to alter my choice of term when it fits the situation appropriately.”

“Have fun being boring, then. In any case, did you phone for a reason?”

“I do nothing if not with a reason.”

“Want to share it?”

“No.”

“A man’s business is his own to know, that’s for certain. But, I’m not going to wake your brother unless it’s for a good reason. He had a tiring night.”

“Why, did you prepare a feast for him to consume?”

Not last night, but that was a bit of an aberration.

“No, but he had you to talk to and that’s enough to tire a body, don’t you think?”

“No. Speaking to me is best described as energizing. Illuminating. Inspiring.”

“Then inspire me with a reason to wake Mycroft and maybe I’ll do it.”

The Mycroft in question happily leaned against the doorframe to Greg’s bedroom, out of Greg’s line of sight, and found himself most content to simply observe the conversation. No matter how deep in sleep he’d been, the sound of his brother’s voice barking for his attention woke him immediately, as it had since Sherlock was an infant, but if Gregory wished a suitable perspective of his brother, this truly was the best way to acquire it.

“I have a list of items he needs to obtain.”

“How do you intend for him to do that?”

“That is not my concern. However, they are necessary for modifications of his crude communications device or, better still, the construction of something more useful and the work should begin at the earliest possible opportunity.”

“Alright, I’ve got a tablet right here and I’ll jot down what you need. We’ve done well getting things thus far, so we might continue to be lucking finding this or that bit of technology to make things work.”

“Very well. I shall begin. Be extremely accurate in your stenography.”

Mycroft smiled softly as Greg’s finger moved for about one second across the notetaking app before stopping, staying stationary, then beginning to doodle a picture of a bird he was apparently seeing out the window because there was no way anyone, besides a specific elder brother, would be able to keep pace with Sherlock’s rapid-fire tossing out of complex electronics terms, many not spoken a human language.

“Ok, since I’m getting about zero percent of this, why don’t we try another approach.”

“Waking my useless brother?”

“No, but I’ll use an audio recording app and you can just say what you want without me having to try and follow what you’re going on about.”

“Why did you fail to suggest this originally?”

“I’m dumb.”

“Oh. Well, at least you are aware of it. I shall begin again.”

Greg hurriedly got the app recording and let it work as long as Sherlock was shooting word bullets through the EM spectrum.

“Now, when will you have those items in your possession?”

“Uhhh… I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no idea what they are or how to get them or if they’re legal or if I can afford them. And a few other reasons, most likely, but those should do for now.”

“You are a deplorable manservant.”

“Could be, in part, because, although I _am_ a man, I am not a servant.”

The softly growled ‘And aren’t I happy for how much of a man you are, Gregory’ into his ear made Greg purr slightly and give his lips a quick lick in memory of just how happy they, and the rest of him, had been only a couple of hours ago.

“I heard that!”

Uh oh.

“You are… having relations… with the human?”

Greg quickly spun, gave Mycroft a kiss while shoving the tablet into his hands, and backed away with hands raised to demonstrate he was officially taking his leave of the conversation.

“You are a cowardly creature, Gregory.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh, that is not in question.”

Especially since, to Mycroft’s eyes, a post-sex glow was something Greg wore extremely well.

“I am not content to hear this!”

“Then go away, brother dear. At least, in terms of signals that are audible to you from this world.”

“No, we have matters to discuss, not the least of which is that you are consorting with a human. Mummy will be aghast.”

“Mummy’s only concerns will pertain to his virility and wealth. Not in that order.”

As Greg continued to listen in, he was struck by the easy banter between the brothers and the seeming sense of confidence that they _would_ be reunited. It would be a marvelous thing, really, but… well, he would direct his brain to stick with the marvelous bit and leave other thoughts for later.

“There is some truth to that, I admit, however I doubt she ever considered an interspecies relationship.”

“Relationship? We engaged in sex, brother. That is hardly a relationship.”

Not even Mycroft’s hearing was good enough to catch the sound of Greg’s eyebrows rising at the remark. Though, to be fair, Greg couldn’t argue against the point. It was just a little jarring to hear aloud.

“Ugh, do not say sex. You are utterly unsuited for any sexual act whatsoever and the mere thought of it is nauseating.”

“Humans are not our equal in any manner, brother, but they do possess attributes one can enjoy when they are available.”

Greg’s eyebrows rose twice as high this time and he shoved down a crest of annoyance at the direction the conversation had turned.

“That matters not. I do not care if we are discussing a human or a stone, the combination of sex and you promotes the most violent, ferocious bout of nausea imaginable in the universe.”

“Then take yourself away from this discussion and contemplate something more pleasant. How many uprisings against me have you fomented today?”

“One, but it is amongst the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t%, so it is certain to come to naught.”

“Good. Given you would have to tend to matters in my stead, I suspected you would not attempt any anarchist act _too_ likely to succeed.”

“True, but you still are wrong in denying them access to the Gn^fknl*c mines. Their grievance is a legitimate one.”

“That is debatable but, until they demonstrate some degree of ability to use the ore in a productive manner, they have no genuine need for it. Others do.”

“They fashion it into jewelry. They have done so for… ever. It is important to both their culture and societal practices.”

“Neither of which you care about. Further, neither directly puts food in their mouths or clothes on their backs.”

“It would if you would help to promote trade in their region. I have made inquiries… they could likely sell their handicrafts for a notable increase to their income if you simply saw better roads laid so they could move more than a cart or two a week out of their valley.”

“Now is not the time for this particular, and familiar, argument, brother. Have you more to say or is your shopping list the extent of your need to hold open this communication line?”

“My list was the main focus for this contact, yes. Fulfill it and alert me when it is done.”

Greg knew the sound of a conversation being ended by one party with the other not being in the least happy about it but knowing they wouldn’t change the other’s mind for love nor money. He’d been both parties in this stage play more times than he could count.

“I get the feeling Sherlock’s not going to let that lie for long.”

“The Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% matter?”

“Uh… yeah, that sounds like it.”

“You are correct, for it is a thorn he particularly enjoys stabbing into my side.”

“I don’t know a thing about what’s going on, but it sounded as if he might have a point.”

“Sherlock’s point is based on his willful ignoring of other facts that do not support his narrative. He favors the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% for they are much like him in temperament and often cooperate with his ridiculous schemes and plots. He is _not_ as fond of the Ddbnl^e%#uryax for they are somewhat stalwart, pragmatic individuals and most commonly act to implement my laws and wants, which vexes Sherlock terribly.”

“And who’s the… Dubnurax… when they’re at home?”

“The Ddbnl^e%#uryax, obviously. And your pronunciation is deplorable.”

“Meaning we’ll start language lessons today! In any case, what I meant was how do they fit into this story?”

“Ah, I see. The Ddbnl^e%#uryax, along with the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% inhabit a valley that extends… oh, many hundreds of your miles. A thousand, perhaps. In any case, movement of goods is difficult, so they are somewhat isolated from other groups for trade or other matters. I have offered, many times to the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% to construct a better road into their territory. Several, in fact. However, I insist that it reach through the entire valley to the other side of the CryNlvvyk%tuu#p mountains. That would reach the Ddbnl^e%#uryax people, also, and the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% refuse on those grounds. There is, you see, some degree of animosity between them and wheras the Ddbnl^e%#uryax would set aside their grievances for the sake of trade, the Brzz&ykkxo*dppqq@nl%t% are content to, as your people put it, cut off their nose to spite their face.”

“So, it’s a stalemate.”

“For the time being. Closing access to the Gn^fknl*c mines was the first application of pressure. The next will be letting slip that I grow weary of their posturing and will simply direct a road be constructed through the other side of the valley where the Ddbnl^e%#uryax dwell. It is a far more difficult route, but there _is_ an ancient road in place that could be improved and expanded with sufficient effort and resources. I have little doubt that will spur rather serious discussions as to how greatly they prize their stubbornness and feud, compared to their envy as their enemies grow wealthier, while they languish.”

“That’s… manipulative. Well done! Very kingly.”

“Thank you. My brother, however, does not share your sentiment. He believes my actions are solely motivated by contempt or displeasure at their more independent frame of mind and there is little I can do to persuade him otherwise.”

“Little brother’s got something in his head and neither facts nor reality can dislodge it. Not an unfamiliar song you’re singing.”

“Ultimately, Sherlock’s opinion matters naught, but he can be pestiferous at times. Most especially when I am already spread thin and his ridiculous actions are most likely to irritate and annoy.”

“Again, not surprising for a baby brother. One question, though… I thought your society was fairly technologically advanced. Why the need for carts and, well, roads? Couldn’t things be transported by air?”

“Some areas are highly technologically advanced. Others… less so. Sometimes it is the will of the residents that their lives remain simple, other times it is vestiges of a more tribal, insular existence that my father and his father often promoted to further their philosophy that a fragmented world posed less threat to their rule than an united one. I opt for a different approach and do strive to bring, to those who wish it, greater access for economic growth and the technology to achieve it. To date, I have met with varying success, but the overall level of progress is acceptable. And ongoing.”

Now and again it struck Greg hard that he was living with an actual king who actively ruled his people. It was a heady thing to contemplate but reinforced that Mycroft _needed_ to get home. For such a rocky start to their not-relationship, he knew in his heart that Mycroft was a good king to his people and they would very likely suffer if he wasn’t returned to his throne. He cared, that much was clear, which put him head and shoulders above a lot of leaders on _this_ wretched planet.

“Then we should get started on Sherlock’s list. I have the feeling it won’t be as easy to fill as the last one.”

“I suspect you are correct. I heard several of the items he mentioned and doubt there are analogous examples to be found on your planet. That might demand a level of fabrication I am not content to leave to the hands of your military.”

“Yeah, they might start to ask too many questions. I’ll talk to Anderson about who he knows that might be able to do the work for us. Maybe someone will do the work free if we buy the parts. It’d be something they hadn’t made before and might be useful for something else they’re working on. We could trade knowledge for labor, which is fair. Of course, they might not even know how to make what we want. Could Sherlock draw some plans or something?”

“A point I had not considered. Yes, he likely could. I will see he does it. There are, if I remember, many resources for your various technological symbols used for plans and diagrams. There might be… hmmmm….”

“Mycroft?”

“An idea, though one that may not come to pass. I will work on it today while you speak with your minion about what he can and cannot, at present, acquire for us.”

“He’s not a minion. He’s a friend.”

Mr. King Mycroft the Bastard.

“If you insist. Now, what are you preparing for my breakfast?”

Mr. King Mycroft the Bastardest.

“ _I_ thought _I_ might enjoy something light to start. Bit of toast and tea while _I_ browse the news online.”

“That is wholly insufficient.”

“Not for _me_ , it isn’t.”

“First, yes it is. You require heartier fare, rich with protein. Second, I require heartier fare, rich with protein. Therefore, the path is clear, would you not agree?”

“That I’m having tea and toast, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Gregory! I require food.”

“Make it.”

“We have long established that the nature of our relationship mandates…”

“Nothing. You just told your brother we don’t have a relationship.”

Greg startled himself at the sharpness in his voice, but he startled Mycroft more, which was a tidy bit of satisfaction to balance the startle, in Greg’s humble opinion.

“I… I was speaking of a romantic one, not a transactional one.”

“Transactional?”

The balance was not staying balanced…

“Of course. You tend to my needs and I… repay in kind.”

Greg took a few deep breaths while staring Mycroft in the eye, then found all his deep breaths did was put extra air in his lungs. Maybe it was time for more air. The more the merrier.

“I need some air.”

“There is air in here.”

“Not the sort I want.”

Greg rose from the table, swore to himself that he wasn’t properly dressed for outdoors, but was happy to trade improper footwear and lack of a hat for the chance to clear his head.

“Gregory…”

“Have some tea. I’ll be awhile.”

Greg was scarcely across the threshold before Mycroft’s brain was having a small word with him, reminding him that there were times, albeit rare, that his words did not entirely convey the full breadth of his meaning and could come across as… rude. Callous. Cruel. And, while that was entirely expected for a king, it was still not wholly appropriate and, further, as Gregory had pointed out many times, he was not a king here. Most importantly, though, Gregory did not deserve careless rudeness whether from a king or not.

With his brain now kicking him into action, Mycroft paused only to collect a few items before chasing after Greg who had made surprising progress putting distance between himself and the cottage.

“Gregory! You foolish man. It is far too brisk for you in this wind.”

Rapidly catching up with the figure marching towards the cliffs, Mycroft made short work of getting a hat on Greg’s head and draping a jacket over his shoulders.

“Oh, and what do I have to do to pay for this? Bend over and let you fuck me while you enjoy the sea breeze?”

Watching the back of the again marching-away figure, Mycroft scowled and spread his wings, jogging the short distance before gently scooping up Greg and setting aloft.

“Wha… Mycroft!”

“Now, you cannot posit that I intend to fuck you as doing that on the wing would be a difficult task, given we both are clothed and your shoulder still warrants care and concern. It does, however, allow me to amend my previous statements which, clearly, and justifiably, have angered you. I do not view our association as a purely transactional one. It was a poor choice of terms and did not reflect my actual thoughts on the matter.”

Greg’s attention was having a terribly difficult time focusing on Mycroft’s words as… he was flying! Soaring above the water like a bird. It was everything he’d dreamt it would be. And it was easy to see why Mycroft loved this so dearly.

“Yeah, well… it was a shit thing to say.”

“I will not disagree and I hope to be more mindful in the future. I enjoyed our time together last night, Gregory. I enjoyed it tremendously and for no other reason than you are an exceptional lover who pleases me greatly. And… whose company I also enjoy, which enhances your sexual appeal.”

Greg was doing his level best to hold onto his snit, but found it ebbing away as he had now a good bit of practice under his belt spotting Mycroft’s lies and none of that had the right feel to be labeled as dishonest. However, one could be honest and an absolute bastard at the same time.

“Even though I’m not in any way your equal?”

“I… oh. That was, also, an unfortunate statement on my part.”

“Not what a man wants to hear, you know, after a night that… it made me feel good, Mycroft. Better than I have in a long time and in a lot of ways. I have to say, it was a kick in the teeth this morning to hear what you really think of me and our time together.”

Mycroft frowned deeply and remained silent while he soared over the waves, reveling in the feel of the air under his wings. He had both meant and not meant those words. Humans could not match his species in countless ways. They were frail, ignorant, wretched in so many ways. Some, however… some were strong. Perhaps not so greatly in body, but in character. Some, also, were knowledgeable, at least as far as their world permitted their acquisition of knowledge. One could not fault their ability and desire to gain knowledge and, further, put it to productive use. Many were terribly wretched, but he had to concede that a few were… admirable. Loyal, caring, clever, humorous… not the majority, but a relevant handful of individuals. And some were passionate. Suffused with an honest passion for life, food, sex and the other in the pantheon of parameters that elevated existence to _life_.

“I stand by my statement for most of humanity, but I have met examples that cannot accurately be described so… disparagingly.”

Greg rolled his eyes, but admitted that he’d thought that way about humanity a time or two during his life. Especially when election results were coming in and he saw how many liars, fools, corrupt arseholes and bigoted villains were winning seats in Parliament.

“Maybe remember not to make such general statements when someone, like me, is within earshot to hear it?”

“I can only agree to try to be more aware of such things in the future. I cannot guarantee flawless success.”

“That’s… that’s all a body can ask, really. Honest effort. I’ll still box your ears if you fuck up, though.”

“If you must.”

“I must.”

“Very well. Is this now laid to rest?”

“Uhhhh… yes. Until and if an ear-boxing is necessary.”

“Excellent. Then I can now look forward to a pleasant short flight followed by a large breakfast. Rich with protein.”

“Not this again.”

“If you like, I can assuredly catch a bird for you to roast as part of our meal.”

“No. I am not roasting a fucking seagull because you want to show off your flying skills.”

“Do we have a chicken?”

“Do we raise chickens?”

“I desire a bird for breakfast. Why are you showing me that finger?”

“It’s a species of bird. You see it a lot in America, but it’s got a hefty population over here, too.”

“I am confused.”

“And I’m not roasting a chicken for breakfast. Enjoy some pig, instead. Sausages or bacon? Beans, too. They’ve got protein.”

“We often have that. I desire something different.”

“Hmmm… eggs? We do eggs a lot, but I haven’t done an omelet yet. I can put cheese in it, so that’s an extra helping of protein.”

“With toast?”

“Of course.”

“And meat?”

“Uhhh… ham. We’ve got a bit of ham, enough to put in the omelets, too.”

“Very well. I suppose a bit of ham will suffice. I am curious as to how it will flavor your semen.”

“What?”

“After breakfast, you will phone your minion, then we will have sex. It will be interesting to taste how your breakfast flavors your release.”

“That is the unsexiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It is fortunate, then, that neither of our species uses their ears during the act of sex.”

“Depends on how you define sex.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Maybe later. After you’ve cleaned the breakfast dishes.”

“Are we negotiating?”

“I suppose we are.”

“I find negotiation… arousing.”

“Oh… reconsidering that in-flight cuddle, are you?”

“It _is_ an appealing idea.”

“So… now, it’s sex first, then breakfast, then dishes, then more sex?”

“Mostly true.”

“You’re not up for the extra sex later?”

“We _will_ discuss this further, Gregory.”

“Good idea. I’ll give you something to take your mind off of cleaning the dishes.”


	22. Chapter 22

There were a lot of wonderful things about retirement. One was that you could have a long, warm lie-in once your lover left the bed and who was going to tell you to stop being lazy? Well, said lover could, but he’d been suspiciously quiet for the past half hour and the suspiciously bit was starting to make his DI instincts itch. Yes, Mycroft could be reading quietly or sitting outdoors, but it was an overcast day and looked to be drizzling a bit, so that last scenario wasn’t likely. The reading was still in contention, though, but Mycroft liked his nibbles while reading and there’s been no attempts to remove this cozy sloth from its sloth nest… did sloths have nest? Probably not. What would you call their bed, then? A tree? Did they sleep in trees? His knowledge of the sleeping habits of South American animals was shockingly poor. Regardless, this cozy sloth hadn’t been bothered to either make those nibbles or answer five hundred questions about nibble preparation designed purely to irritate him enough to get out of bed and do it himself anyway. It was _so_ nice here, though… what did it matter if Mycroft was doing something baffling?

Greg could only manage another ten minutes of snuggly warmth before the baffling made his brain itch require a scratching more forceful than running his hands through his hair to test the need for a morning shower. Quickly slipping himself into clothes that were a poor snuggle substitute for his blankets and pillow, Greg padded quietly out of the bedroom in case Mycroft _was_ reading and didn’t appreciate being disturbed.

Mycroft was not reading.

“What did you do to the telly!”

Which was now in pieces, scattered across the small cottage.

“Greg’s awake.”

That was Anderson’s voice.

“Anderson?”

Waving at him from the laptop.

“Ah, Gregory. I trust you enjoyed your rest.”

“The telly!”

“It may or may not have enjoyed it’s rest. I have no evidence for either position.”

“That… you stop laughing, Anderson! What are… why are… someone give me an explanation for this and it’s better be something besides you’re both drunk and Mycroft lost a wager!”

That Mycroft simply waved him off with a flick of the wrist and returned to pulling apart some intricate bit that his former television no longer required didn’t fill Greg with confidence that the actual explanation was any more comforting than his imagined one.

“Well… you see, former DI Lestrade, Mycroft had an interesting idea and I’m helping him with it.”

“Helping me not watch my programmes, you mean!”

“You sound like a pensioner.”

“I _am_ a pensioner!”

“A technicality. In any case, this is far more interesting that some daytime drama or chat show so why are you complaining?”

Greg knew that doing an angry-toddler dance would gain him nothing but a bit of exercise, but that was reason enough given his current frame of mind so he did a spirited one and reveled in the increased heart rate.

“You’re technophobic, Greg, so go have some pensioner’s tea while Mycroft and I continue with our electronics project. It’ll calm your little Luddite brain.”

“Funny. What is this project, anyway?”

“Something for us to know and you …maybe… to find out.”

Greg started dancing again and Anderson secretly smiled that his friend was still as ridiculous as ever. He was worried about Greg, for several reasons, but if his spirits were still high, in a sense, then the worry could remain at its typical, low-simmering level.

“Gregory, acquire toast and jam. I, myself, require… six pieces. And a Coke.”

Making a rude gesture at the laughing Anderson, Greg made another at Mycroft but it was at the Visitor’s back, so the effect was somewhat muted.

“Then you’ll clue me in on what’s going on, you greedy man?”

“Perhaps.”

“You’re a hateful person, Mycroft.”

“Also perhaps, but I do not hate toast, jam or a Coke, so your point is a limited one.”

Greg completed his exercise for the week with another spirited tantrum dance then decided that toast and tea was a good start towards turning his day in a better direction. Let the schoolboys have their little secret club. It would keep Mycroft occupied and, if he was willing to tell a fib to the military, he could ask for a new telly in the provisions request, saying theirs met with some accident, like Mycroft tripping and knocking the silly thing off its stand. Or maybe there was no accident. Maybe he simply wanted one in his bedroom for those times when there was a housemate’s disagreement on what they should watch for the evening. It’s not like when he was a kid and a television set was a major expense for the family. The military could get some generic thing for cheap and it would work well enough for their purposes. He could have one delivered, if necessary. Pay for it himself. Along with some medication and self-help books for people addicted to their telly and going through withdrawal. This was Mycroft’s fault. Well, there was only a smidgen of the exceptional raspberry jam left and someone whose complexion was somewhat raspberry-like was officially off the list to get even the slightest taste. Greg Lestrade could be a cruel, petty man when the mood struck and today it had struck like a thunderbolt. Which didn’t really fit in with the whole jam motif, but fuck being clever this early in the day…

__________

It was testament to how lost he was in his book that the tablet leapt out of Greg’s hands when Mycroft loudly swore and slammed a foot hard against the floor, making it shudder with seismic offense.

“Problem?”

“I was not able to fabricate all of the components I require.

“Ok… then order them.”

“Your minion indicates several do not exist with your current technology. I require additional materials to continue my work.”

“Then… order that.”

“The wait shall be interminable.”

“Meaning?”

“At least three days.”

“That’s not long.”

“We have no idea how many days I have left alive so _any_ time wasted is unacceptable.”

“Yeah, ok… you do have a point. Maybe the military base has what you need. We can put in a request and ask for them to be sent over quickly. It’s… well, it’s early enough that I can place an order and have it brought over tomorrow.”

“I suppose that must suffice.”

“Then write down what you want and I’ll tend to it.”

“I also require Irish cream and ouzo.”

“What?”

“I must test them.”

“Test for what?”

“Flavor.”

“Why?”

“Your min…”

“Anderson.”

“Your Anderson asserted they were palatable.”

“Mixed together?”

“He did not specify that, no.”

“Thank god. Uhhh… I’d agree with the Irish cream bit, but I’m not one for anise-flavored things. He is, because he’s put together wrong, but if you want them, I’ll put them on the list.”

“And cheesecake.”

“I thought you two were talking about sciency things!”

“I am not restricted to a single conversational topic when speaking to one of your species.”

“Any other topics I should know about? Videogames or technopop or whatever else he’s obsessing over today?”

“Not to my knowledge. Though, he did recommend putting my name on your bank accounts so that I can order materials without having to first wade through your inevitable interrogations and lollygagging.”

“Where did you learn the word lollygagging?”

“A book.”

“Fair enough. And you’re not getting your fingers on my money.”

“Predictably tedious. However, you might wish to ensure it is safeguarded against your former female for that is a more likely threat to your coffers.”

“What?”

“Your Anderson stated she has made inquiries as to your whereabouts.”

“Hmmmm… that’s odd. We’ve got nothing legally entangled, so she’s no claim on any of my accounts.”

“Regardless, he is concerned something nefarious is afoot.”

“Ok, I’ll… I’ll email her or something later. She can’t get my money, though, so that’s not a worry.”

“Good, for I am not sure of the price of the goods I require if your military is not in possession of them and I will have them even if I must sell you into sexual service to acquire what I need.”

Greg shook his head and marveled that, if he actually thought about it, this was very much like it was when he was married. Hands grasping for cash and steady stream of insults. Though, to be fair, Mycroft’s insults were a lot more clever and the sex was wildly better, so he wouldn’t be filing for divorce anytime soon. And, he thought this old body was worth some pretty cash on the open market. That was sweet, really.

“Then stop being a tit and write your list. Then we can stare into empty space for the rest of the night hoping our telly’s ghost takes pity and shows us some old broadcasts of the Queen’s speeches or something equally invigorating.”

“You lack intellectual fortitude.”

“I lack my television entertainment.”

“The computer is an acceptable substitute until another is delivered. A larger one.”

Oh no.

“We don’t need a larger telly.”

“We do. I have seen what is on offer and ours was insultingly small.”

“The cottage is the size of a phone box. Anything larger would be ludicrous.”

“But better.”

“Ludicrous is never better. I will put in a request for a new one, but expect one no different than the one you brutally murdered.”

“Ugh… use your horded funds to purchase a larger one.”

This was definitely a conversation he’d had when married.

“No! What we have… had… is fine. Now, given it’s likely been more than twenty minutes since you ate, I’d best start something. Care to help?”

“What are you preparing?”

“Ummm… chops and potatoes.”

“That is acceptable. I shall assist by testing the quality of the meat.”

“I am not going to eat a chop that already has your teeth marks in it because you took a bite out of it raw.”

“Your commitment to food quality is deplorable.”

“Chips or mash?”

“Chips. In quantity.”

“Not worried about my poor commitment to food quality?”

“With enough hot chips on my plate, I likely will overlook imperfections in their preparation.”

“Yeah, ‘lots’ is its own quality category for chips.”

“Without doubt.

__________

Greg had to admit that he was a bit skeptical that the whole list he’d submitted for delivery would be delivered by today, or at all, but sitting on the floor of the cottage was everything requested, including a replacement telly that was, as expected, an exact copy of their deceased one.

“Finally.”

“Finally? It’s nine in the morning and we just had an entire electronics shop delivered to our doorstep.”

“What was difficult about delivering at _seven_ in the morning?”

“Sleep. Which we were doing, if you remember correctly.”

And, no, Greg was not feeling a bit prideful that the ‘we’ part was because they’d had a wonderfully relaxing night, then some prolonged, slow and surprisingly tender sex, before he’d tossed Mycroft to his own room to sleep because it had been hard to miss that the Visitor was feeling the effects of the chill and a good night in the sauna Mycroft called a bedroom would do him a world of good.

“I was reading, not sleeping.”

“Whatever you say. Can I expect that you are officially tinkering for the remainder of the day?”

“I do not tinker. I design, construct, test and refine.”

“Whatever you say, part two. Can I expect that you are officially designing, constructing, testing and refining for the remainder of the day?”

“You are being most contentious this morning. For what reason?”

“I just want to know if I’m going to have help with anything and if, after I do everything to keep us with house and home together, I can watch the match.”

“Do as you will. I do not anticipate requiring components of the new television for my work, but I shall not enter any pacts on the matter.”

“You are _not_ going to send our new telly to the scrapheap.”

“No, I would gainfully use any pieces I removed from it, then alert your military to take away what remains when delivering a new one. What they do with the detritus is not my concern.”

“Fine, then. I’m off to…”

“Stop.”

Greg stopped turning around towards the kitchen and looked back at Mycroft who was studying him intently.

“Why?”

“You agreed too readily.”

“Which is a problem for you how?”

“I know not, which is why I am wary.”

“I’m trusting that after last night, where we had to use the laptop to watch that film you wanted to see, you’ll leave our new telly alive so we can watch the film’s sequel tonight without having to squint.”

“Wrong.”

“Squint away, then! I’ve got laundry to start and they brought that cream cheese you wanted so I can start looking into what it takes not to completely fuck up cheesecake.”

“What are you hiding?”

Greg made a show of checking his pockets, then sadly shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Gregory, I can smell your deceit.”

“You certainly cannot.”

“You admit you are lying about something.”

“No, I’m saying you’re loony. Go fiddle with your gadgets! I’ve got pinny-wearing stuff to do and only so many hours in the day to do it.”

Mycroft growled and bared his teeth, snarling when Greg gave an exaggerated yawn and sauntered to the kitchen to pull out a large mixing bowl that he waggled cheekily before placing on the small countertop. Which might have been one teeny toe over the line as the next second of his life delivered a hot-breathed snarl in his ear to signal that Mycroft was not satisfied with his answer.

“What now, you evil git?”

“What are you hiding?”

“A merman lover named Roger.”

“You lie.”

“True. It’s actually Glenn.”

“I have no interest in your nonsensical replies.”

“Then why ask?”

“Gregory…”

That sounded almost reptilian and was accompanied by enough sniffs of his neck and head that Greg began to wonder if Mycroft’s claim about smelling lies was actually true. Regardless, the nosy parker wasn’t going to let this rest so…

“I’m going to phone my ex-wife. Happy now? No use letting whatever she wants linger, so I thought I’d have that conversation while you were busy with other things.”

“Why would you want to hide this from me?”

“Because… I don’t know, honestly. Maybe because it’s something that makes me angry and I worried it’d make you angry, too. That’s more anger than I want to deal with for her sake. It’s exhausting and she doesn’t that deserve that much energy from me.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Not entirely, but you seem sincere. You… you are certain you do not require my assistance with this?”

This said with Mycroft’s hands resting on Greg’s shoulders while he shifted from sniffing Greg’s hair to laying his cheek briefly against Greg’s temple.

“I’m certain, but thanks for offering.”

“You are welcome. If I am not needed, then, I shall return to my work. There will be cheesecake for lunch, I presume.”

“You presume wrong as it takes a long time to make and be ready to serve. Maybe tonight.”

“You are a disappointing individual, Gregory.”

“You said that yesterday about the music I was listening to.”

“That, also, was disappointing.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“One of your few positive qualities.”

“Along with my arse?”

“Most assuredly.”

__________

Mycroft couldn’t hear Greg’s conversation, as Greg wisely took his mobile outdoors and down to the water’s edge so whatever was said had a measure of privacy. Not that Greg cared, particularly, if Mycroft heard the conversation, but Mycroft had a tendency to insert himself into _any_ conversation and this was not a time he wanted voices in both ears when the voice he was hearing in one ear was annoying enough for two.

When the call was over, Greg stood staring out over the water for a long time before walking back to the cottage, feeling slightly better when he stepped inside to the warmth, familiar smells and utter chaos of electronics debris strewn across the small space.

“You are upset.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes.”

The Visitor was good at reading him, that much was certain.

“Maybe a little. More frustrated or disheartened than upset, though. You try to expect the best of people but…”

“That is never a beneficial philosophy.”

“I’d disagree most days, but today I’ll simply bow to your expertise.”

Mycroft scowled deeply because he did not like his Gregory sporting the brightness of a soggy wick.

“What has happened? What did the slattern want with you?”

“Let’s not stoop to spouting foul names…”

Though feel free to think all that you like.

“… but, in truth, nothing has happened. It’s… actually, it’s something I’d forgotten. Her father gave me a tie pin when she and I got married. I rarely wear it since it was an expensive piece. She wants it.”

“Preposterous. It is yours.”

“Yeah, but it _was_ from her father and he died some years ago so…”

“So? I fail to see that as a compelling argument.”

“It’s sentimental, I suppose.”

“It is worth money and, further, it is hurtful to you. Those are her reasons.”

“I… no, not entirely. Yes, for the first bit, probably, but I doubt she’d have any burning desire to reach across the country just to slap me in the face on a lark. Maybe she wants to fund a holiday or something, I don’t know.”

“Her lack of integrity is appalling.”

“It’s not always been the highest, true, but there’s not a lot of sentimentality between us anymore so she may not have thought I’d care much.”

Mycroft stared at Greg and his scowl sharpened a moment, before he shrugged and huffed out a breath.

“Let me see this thing.”

“What? Oh, alright…”

Greg vanished into his bedroom and emerged several moments later with a small box in his hand.

“Here.”

Opening the box, Greg showed Mycroft the tie pin, fashioned of white gold with tasteful diamond inset in the center that gleamed brightly as Greg moved the box back and forth for the stone to catch the light.

“It’s a nice piece, but I suspect he had ideas that I’d actually move up to the high levels of the police ranks or come to my senses and leave policing altogether for a proper job where this sort of thing might be useful for social functions.”

Mycroft made a noncommittal noise, then lifted the box out of Greg’s fingers and took it outside for a better look in the light. At least that was what Greg thought. He hadn’t anticipated Mycroft flinging it so far out over the ocean that the box was nothing but a tiny speck when it finally plopped into the water.

“How unfortunate. You seem to have lost the item in question. Truly a tragedy for you had full intentions of returning it, as honor demands.”

Strolling back into the cottage, Mycroft didn’t turn around to see Greg’s reaction, but smiled in satisfaction when he heard Greg’s laughter over the sound of the waves and wind. Laughter that continued even after Greg had stepped into the cottage and gave the cream cheese a poke to see if it had softened.

“That was perfect, Mycroft. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“You’re still not having cheesecake for lunch, though.”

“Blackguard.”

“Guilty as charged.”

__________

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Greg looked up from the laundry he was folding on the kitchen table and grinned at the face peeking in through the window.

“Nobody who wants to see _you_ , useless doctor.”

“Perfect!”

John expected the little cottage to be a bit cluttered, given the large delivery of supplies made earlier that day, but he wasn’t quite expecting the explosion of bits and pieces that greeted him when he crossed the threshold.

“What happened?”

“Don’t ask me. Mycroft has some project going and he’s keeping close to vest about it. It seems to be going well, though, from what I can fathom. At least, it’s not going so poorly he’s started swearing or throwing things, which is what my dad used to do when one of his little DIY things went awry.”

“Everyone needs a hobby, I suppose. Anyway, I popped over because I noticed you didn’t put pain meds on your supply list and I wasn’t certain if it was an oversight or if you weren’t in need of them right now. Or at all.”

“Oh! Didn’t even cross my mind, actually. I’ve been taking care of the shoulder and it’s appreciated my efforts, so I don’t think I’ve had one since yesterday morning. I’m feeling a little something right now, but I’ve been doing laundry, so the arms got a bit of a workout.”

“Good! I’ll leave these just in case, though. Something smells good – you’ve been baking?”

“As much as cheesecake can be called baking. I’d never tried to do one, but it’s my sort of thing, really. Stir it all up, pour it into a pan with a foolishly-simple crust and there you have it! It’s an ugly thing, but my mum’s always were and that didn’t stop them from being scrummy.”

John mentally put a check in ‘keeping active’ box and ‘trying new things’ box, as well, for good measure. Mycroft seemed to be staying mentally busy and Greg seemed to be following suit. That had a doctor’s gold seal of approval.

“We’re just having a bit of chicken and veg tonight, John, but you’re welcome to stay.”

Sharing that mental business with said doctor had an even golder seal of approval. It had been awhile since he’d had a nice, non-military meal and his mouth was already watering in anticipation.

“I’d like that, actually. It’s a bit slow at the base right now and I would welcome both the food and the company.”

“Great! We’re happy to have you…”

Mycroft’s sinister growl provided counterpoint to Greg’s collegial point of view.

“… even if one of us is a prat. Let me finish with this and I’ll pour us a glass of wine, what say? Mycroft is going to be busy for awhile, so we can chat about things we enjoy but he hates and do it in peace.”

John grinned at the perfectly aimed bit of circuitry that landed precisely in the remains of Greg’s tea.

“If that tea had been hot, I would have given you the beating of a lifetime.”

Mycroft’s rude noise was exactly the sort you made when it was part of a standard domestic script and John found himself grinning in spite of himself. If those two weren’t shagging yet, they would be before the week was out.

“If I were a housefly, Gregory, that might concern me. As I _am_ not, it _does_ not.”

Greg made a rude gesture, but John couldn’t miss the indulgent grin on the man’s face while he did it. Mentally removing the ‘yet’ bit from the previous thought. They _were_ shagging. Now, how to get Greg away from Mycroft long enough to trounce the details out of him and begin the congratulatory celebration…

“What do you think, Greg? I’m wondering if I should enter Mycroft in the base’s darts tournament. I think he’d stand a chance.”

Greg reached into the cold remnants of his tea and extracted the non-teabag addition, which dripped sadly as he inspected it for insight into what it did for a living.

“He’d stand more than a chance, no doubt about it. Of course, he’s as likely to throw the darts at his competition as at the target, so there’s that to consider.”

“Not a problem, I’d say. Just another thing to wager on.”

“I like the way you think…”

__________

This was good. And good in the way that you felt satisfied and anticipating another time when you could enjoy the same goodness again. Making a dinner for guests… one guest and one housemate… then doing the coffee-and-cake-for-after bit, now sipping a fantastic sherry while having another, albeit slimmer, slice of the marvelous cheesecake he’d made with his own two hands while enjoying a fresh fire in the hearth, excellent conversation…

“Damnation!”

And Mycroft.

“What’s wrong?”

The long stream of Visitor language added nothing to Greg’s understanding, but it confirmed to both him and John that it was something that didn’t involve them in the slightest.

“Ok. Good on you sticking with it.”

Greg held a hand over his port and wasn’t surprised that a fiddly little thing bounced cleanly off his knuckles.

“My life, John. You see it laid bare and I hope you weep for me.”

“Not really. You’ve got good food, good drink and free entertainment. Mycroft, what are you building, anyway? Come on, give us a clue.”

“Very well. I am attempting to transmit complex electromagnetic signals to relay basic visual information.”

“Building your own BBC? Well, you can’t do worse than what we already have. Or are you trying to pirate one of those for-pay streaming services? You can tell me; I can keep a secret. I know the government pays for some, but… you’re trying for one of those porno sites, aren’t you? Not content with naked frolicking on the computer monitor? I admit, bigger is better when watching fun and filthy things, so let me know how it turns out. I may pay you to make _me_ one of your gadgets.”

Mycroft made a gesture that Greg knew and John suspected was scandalously rude, giving both men extra license to observe the continued electronic struggles as their personal reality programming.

“Dunno about that, John. This one isn’t looking very healthy, so you’d best not pin all your hopes on Mycroft’s gadgetry for getting a large-screen look at the pornos.”

“Don’t listen to him, Mycroft. New technology takes time to develop properly. But, yeah, I think we might still be at the mostly scrap stage. Maybe give something a wiggle? Good firm smack on the side there? Usually works for me.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, then turned a scornful eye towards Greg and John while he made an enormous show of jiggling several bits of wire then, with an impressive flourish, smacked the side of the makeshift housing he’d constructed, earning a mournful shake of John’s head when the machine didn’t even sputter and smoke like it would have if they lived in a cartoon.

“Maybe you don’t have the touch?”

Greg was already pouring a pacifying topping up of Mycroft’s sherry when the mad scientist creation at Mycroft’s side erupted in a blare of static, both in sound and with a snow-filled telly screen where a vague shape was slowly taking hazy focus.

“xKllvncppoyn^vv&axb*cQ!”

Nobody in the room moved a centimeter, including the person who began to recognize the outline on the screen.

“Fyu!qk$lc?”

That required comment.

Skzh^*lkNnd#furtqB@vLqfkT&%Xt! That was utterly uncalled for.

“Why are you speaking that ghastly human language?”

“Because….”

It was polite given humans were present, which meant that _humans_ were present. One of which was _not_ Gregory. And who was staring in outright shock at the screen. Trust Sherlock to appear at the worst possible time in every single situation the universe might offer…


	23. Chapter 23

Greg hadn’t been off the job nearly long enough for his cops senses to have dulled appreciably and he keenly kept his eyes focused on the scene in front of him, which consisted of John, whose mouth was slowly opening as if to yell and Mycroft, who was crouching to leap with his claws extended. Give it a few seconds to calm down on its own and… nope, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Ok, Mycroft, put the claws away. John, put the… mouth away. Calm down, the both of you. Let’s talk this through…”

The reason Greg had waited a moment before saying anything was, sometimes, it was the act of saying something that lit the fuse. As was the case here.

In the same instant that John reached for his radio, Mycroft lunged forward, teeth bared and hand drawing into a position to swipe his claws across John’s face. Which made Greg’s flying tackle a bit more painful than he’d predicted, since the swipe caught him, instead, and he shouted with the pain both of colliding with a hard, heavy object and getting up close and personal with those claws a second time.

“Gregory! You stupid human…”

Greg’s stunned, bloody form lay crumpled on the floor and this reach for John was by an unclawed hand so Mycroft could hurl him onto the floor next to Greg.

“Fix!”

The instincts warring inside John were numerous, but the one winning by a nose was his _doctor’s_ instincts, which said his patient needed immediate help and other concerns, such as a FUCKING VISITOR COMMUNICATION DEVICE, could wait.

“Mycroft, get my bag in the car.”

Visitors could move fast, John knew, but he honestly didn’t think five seconds passed between Mycroft shooting out of the cottage and returning with the medical bag.

“Shit… Greg, can you hear me?”

The lack of response didn’t particularly surprise John, given the man had just collided with a moving freight train, but it would have made him happier if he’d gotten a nod, rather than a disoriented lolling of the head.

“Ok, still groggy. Not… probably not a problem. Let’s see what we’ve got here… oh.”

Mycroft’s growl made the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand at attention but, reassuringly, the Visitor’s eyes were fixed on Greg and not on the man originally slated for the nasty set of slashes oozing a worrying amount of blood onto the rug.

“Yeah, that’s not good. Let’s get him into the car and I’ll…”

“No. Fix him here.”

“I may need more to do that than I have on hand.”

“Can I follow where you will take him?”

“No, but…”

“He stays.”

The Watson temper started to flare until John realized that Mycroft wasn’t trying to hide his secret. He was trying to protect Greg. At least, that’s what his entire posture, facial expressions and the fact his claws were out again hovering as if to destroy anyone or anything that brought Greg further harm all said in a loud, clear and united voice.

“I’ll see what I can do but if he needs more extensive treatment, I _will_ take him to the base. I won’t see him suffer needlessly.”

Especially since there is almost zero chance I’d be alive right now if he hadn’t acted.

“What is happening! I cannot see what is happening!”

The reason for this entire disaster slammed back both into John’s and Mycroft’s minds and it was another fraught moment before each gave a tiny, grudging nod that locked a ‘ignore situation for now’ agreement into place until the Greg issue was sorted.

“What is happening is that Gregory is injured. That must be tended to.”

“How? You have no medical skill.”

“A doctor is present.”

“A… _human_ doctor.”

“Yes.”

“Kill him before he alerts others!”

The wry smirk on Mycroft’s face wasn’t lost on John.

“Later, brother. Gregory’s well-being takes priority.”

Brother… John wasn’t entirely certain if that was a collegial or familial term, but it certainly appeared Mycroft and this new face knew each other personally and this wasn’t a randomly intercepted transmission.

“You can find another manservant. This human cannot jeopardize the mission!”

This look John shot to Mycroft was a complicated one but Mycroft properly interpreted the gist as being ‘seems we have a lot to talk about.’

“Thank you for revealing even more information to John, brother. So helpful, as always.”

“John? What is a John? Some form of insect?”

John would have thrown something at the screen if he wasn’t worried it would damage the device. The military, scientists… all had tried to establish communication with the Visitor’s world and never succeeded. Here was a working communication system and he couldn’t do a single thing to jeopardize it. No matter how much he wanted to.

“And what’s _your_ name, then, Mr. Red Devil? Winky?”

“Preposterous. It is Skzh^*lkNnd#furtqB@vLqfkT&%Xt.”

“Dear god, that’s a mouthful.”

“Only for your stunted intellect.”

John had only met in person one Visitor, the one who had just tried to kill him, but that was a large enough sample size to be fairly certain that Mycroft was using the term ‘brother’ in the familial fashion. Their absolute arrogance was clearly genetic.

“Return attention to Gregory…”

The dangerous snarl in John’s ear did an exceptional job of putting his brain back in the main game, though his hands hadn’t stopped working on his patient.

“I’m doing what I can, Mycroft. See if you can get him to focus a little better, alright?”

Mostly to give yourself a distraction from wanting to kill me if I accidentally sneeze on him.

“Very well. Gregory? Gregory, demonstrate clarity.”

The pats Mycroft gave Greg’s cheek were just on the acceptable side of forceful in John’s medical opinion and the fact they didn’t do more than have Greg mutter a soft ‘stop’ was slightly worrying. However, without clear sign of head trauma it was better than Greg have a nice nap through what was to come and John began preparing a syringe of something restful to ensure his patient wouldn’t come around while he was in the middle of what could be a very painful process.

“Well, that’s not wholly encouraging, but it’s something. Towels?”

“You want me to slap him with towels?”

“No, could you get some. It’s… it’s hard to see what I’m doing. Warm water, too. I’ll keep him sedated while I work but the faster I do this, the better. I’d rather not have him out too long.”

Mycroft’s reluctance to leave Greg’s side was clear, but he finally rose and made quick work of emptying the cottage of every towel and washcloth it possessed, along with a bowl of very warm water.

“Thanks. Could you… do a little cleaning while I try and stitch some of this up? I’m not sure if that’ll be enough for that bottom one.”

Which had split open Greg’s side like an overripe melon. Actually, the flesh wasn’t just ripped, it was missing. As if Mycroft’s claw had sliced out a wedge of the melon while splitting it and John refused to let his eyes to see if he could spot it on the floor.

“It will. You will make it so.”

“You can’t simply order wounds to be lesser than they are, Mycroft.”

“No, but I can order _you_ to accomplish the same purpose.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Make. It. Work.”

“You make it work! This is _your_ fault you know.”

What rose on Mycroft’s face was a frightening mix of rage and despair that John did his best to ignore because saying one more word might convince Mycroft to finish the job he started and his patient needed a living doctor right now.

“I will accept my share of the blame but you hold your own measure of it. It was clear you were going to compromise us. That could not be allowed.”

“It’s my duty!”

“You are no longer in the military.”

“I… true, but…”

“You were poised to destroy what I am trying to achieve. Worse, I smelled your avarice like the stench of rot. You wanted my device for yourself.”

“Not for me! For… the world. Nobody has ever contacted your home, Mycroft. Never. Do you know what this means?”

“That we are free from your spying.”

“We could communicate with you! Understand you! Learn, work together… communicate with your leaders and tell them what’s happening. Work together to try and stop this bloody carnage. Surely they wonder… surely they don’t want to lose any more of their people!”

The one thing John didn’t expect after his speech was Mycroft and that new fellow laughing.

“Your message has already been delivered, Doctor Watson. Ultimately, that is one hope for this communication device. To gain better understanding of the situation so that we might prevent our people being taken.”

“Oh… is…”

John leaned close despite his brain politely reminding him he was leaning close to the person when very nearly murdered him in a bloody and violent fashion only moments ago.

“… is _he_ one of the Visitor leaders.”

“Dear *kkbvndy&cf/4pffa, no.”

“Lies!”

“Oh, you now wish to uptake your traditional duties, brother dear? They are many and varied, so dress accordingly.”

“Pfft. I lead by example.”

“Example of what? Petulance and near insanity?”

“I am not insane. That has been duly documented. Thrice!”

“I feel another assessment may be in order.”

“No. In any case, just today I had to mediate a dispute between the Y&uukzb*rr^tn@gqq and the P%hyyvbc;o+t. And was successful.”

“They united in cause against your lunacy rather than battle it alone and subsequently worked through their differences without your active assistance.”

“That… there is some measure of merit in your statement, but the end was met nonetheless.”

John continued to try and keep Greg’s insides from meeting his outsides but began to gain a sneaking suspicion as to why the comment about Visitor leaders made these two laugh. However, he would wait to pose the question to Greg… hopefully… because he truly did not want to give Mycroft another reason to feel his existence was a threat that needed to be eliminated.

“Mycroft… pardon me, but… more water?”

Mycroft turned towards the bowl which was about as red as Greg’s blood itself and sighed with a small nod.

“Just water?”

“For now. We’ll do a better job of cleaning him up when I’m done here.”

Which could take awhile. Greg was going to need a _lot_ of sutures.

“Your expression does not bode well, John. Take steps to change the situation.”

“I’m trying! I’m trying to stop the bleeding, check for deeper injury, get the shallower two of these tidied so they’re no longer a bother and wonder if building plaster would work as a makeshift tissue filler because you took a hunk out right there that… if you had any ham, I’d be trying to graft it into place because I’m not sure what else is going to work. I genuinely don’t know what to do about it with a suture kit and medical tape. ”

John expected more of a response than a thoughtful ‘hmmmmmm’ and a long stream of back and forth Visitor language between Mycroft and their new friend.

The ‘more’ he did not expect however was Mycroft finally waving a hand to end the conversation, releasing his claws and using one to cut a thick slice of flesh from his upper arm, hissing sharply at the pain then tossing the bloody strip onto Greg’s torso.

“There. Sew it into place.”

“WHAT! Are you loony!”

John was slapped off rushing to tend to Mycroft’s injury as the snarling red man had already grabbed a flannel and pressed it over the gash.

“Our blood does not react negatively with yours and our capacity to heal is much stronger.”

“A tissue graft is a complex, delicate procedure…”

“That you will undertake nonetheless. There… there is reason to believe it will be successful.”

John gaped while Sherlock again began to address his brother with a long stream of ear-jarring sounds, then yelped as Mycroft slung out an arm to push him towards the new carnage.

“Do it!”

John’s mouth opened to continue arguing, but this new stream of words was in a language he readily understood.

“I would advise you to comply, human. My brother is tedious, but when his temper is roused, there are few more dangerous than him. And, if it quells your reluctance, there is reason to believe this will be successful and I suspect you will castigate yourself more painfully perhaps than my brother will if you refuse a potential medical option that may have helped your patient.”

Oddly, it was the last bit of that which spurred John to throw caution to the wind and begin preparing the injury site for something slightly different than a quick sewing up. Ultimately, Mycroft would likely not suggest something so radical, and personally injurious, if didn’t feel this had a chance of working. The man wasn’t stupid and could fathom what might happen if this went poorly. And, even if Visitors did heal quickly, that arm wasn’t going to be happy for some time to come…

“You’ll need to watch Greg closely. I mean that. The first sign of infection, necrosis, he seems off, anything, you need to let me know immediately.”

Mycroft simply waved off John’s words and concentrated on ignoring the tortured screaming from his arm. Humans could do little to hurt him, but he could do a _lot_ to hurt himself and this was a stellar example. However, there was little choice. Gregory was stupendously foolish, something he would tell the man loudly and often, but there was no denying that it was his claws that… again… caused Gregory harm. And this harm was much more severe. Even if he was not a king, with duty to protect members of his household, honor would demand he take all steps necessary to right his wrong. Now, he simply had to hope the tales were true of humans accepting their blood more readily even than another human’s. And, the _one_ tale that existed of a savaged leg having a portion of skin successfully replaced by that of a generous donor. Who happened to be the woman’s lover. Not that such was relevant, but he was willing to accept all the coincidental boons possible to bestow. If the tales were wrong… no, along that path his thoughts were not permitted to tread.

__________

While John worked, Mycroft and Sherlock conversed in their own language and, though it was entirely unsupported, John didn’t get the feeling anything nefarious was afoot. What if Mycroft’s claims were true? What if all of this was to stop more Visitors from coming to Earth? Greg had said Mycroft’s people didn’t create the portals, didn’t know how to stop them forming, either, but maybe there was information only possible on _this_ side of a portal to accomplish… something. Stopping them forming, stopping people from being taken, maybe closing them forever.

“Have you not finished?”

Which would keep pompous arses like Mycroft forever out of his life.

“No. I told you, this was going to take time. Though… I have to admit I thought your slab of meat would just go cold and gross and I’d be scooping it out after I got the rest of the problems sorted but… it seems to be… taking. It shouldn’t be, I should not be able to just sew this in like a panel to enlarge a jacket but something seems to be working here that I can’t begin to explain.”

“Our tissues are far superior and have a greater thirst for survival. They care not about your medical naysaying.”

“First, fuck you. Second, you do seem to have a point. Though… I have to ask. How extensive is this ability? Could you, for example…”

John’s slight look down at Greg telegraphed his question before he said the words.

“No. I cannot cure Gregory’s cancer. I have already given thought to that and there is no mechanism to affect a cure. At least, not one known to me.”

“What about you brother there?”

“He confirmed my thoughts. I _did_ ask.”

The news wasn’t good but Mycroft was trying to help the man and that said something about their connection. At minimum, it bolstered confidence that the Visitor would be giving attentive care of Greg while he healed up from this latest attack. And, about that attack…

“Thanks for that, at least. And… I know you probably don’t care, but I’m sorry I responded the way I did when I saw… all of this.”

John waved at the telly screen, which still bore an unfamiliar face trying to peer downward to better see what was going on.

“I was shocked and, maybe, a bit scared by the whole thing and let my army instincts rise up. See a threat, address it. I can understand, though, why you’d try to stop me and… in the end, I can’t blame you for it. And, for what it’s worth, Greg won’t either.”

“I care not.”

That’s what your sneer says, Mycroft, but it’s hard to believe you’re completely sincere. At least about what Greg thinks.

“Well, just keep that in mind when you talk to him about this. Ok, I’ve done what I can for now so let’s get him cleaned up and into bed. I’ll stay tonight to keep an eye on things.”

“That is not necessary. I shall protect him.”

“Good. That’s good. And if we’re attacked by seagulls, that’s helpful. But if he starts to bleed internally or does start to reject your tissue, then you’ll need someone who knows what to do to help him. But… there’s no need for me to sit at his bedside. I’ll be out here keeping myself occupied, if you want to do a bedside vigil.”

“That is acceptable.”

“Agreed.”

John and Mycroft turned towards Sherlock who was glaring at them both as if he dared them to challenge his agreement.

“You have been very helpful, brother, but should you not be working on… our various projects?”

“I am. I am collecting data as we speak. And I want to interrogate the human. He has medical knowledge I desire.”

“Very well. But do not distract him from his duties.”

Mycroft looked at John a moment before John caught his meaning and gave him a nod, though he realized after he did that having Mycroft lift a body off the floor wasn’t going to do his injured arm a lot of good.

“Will you let me take a look at that, Mycroft? You could probably use a few sutures yourself and more than a few painkillers.”

“I am fine.”

“No, you’re not and Greg needs you in top form right now.”

Mycroft scowled dangerously but made no further comment as John collected his bag and followed him into Greg’s bedroom. Let the little doctor do what he wished; it was of little consequence. His arm would heal without the doctor’s help, perhaps with a bit more scarring and taking more time, but if performing his crude medicine served to refocus the man on Gregory, then let him do as he pleased.

Gregory… why do you continue to suffer for my actions? If I could take this pain from you onto myself I would do it, however, the best I can muster is to see you cared for while you heal. Or, at least, heal as much as possible before I depart this world. The communications device works. It _works_ … not only can I speak with Sherlock, we can share visual information. Diagrams, components… jointly work to build things we need to secure my return. But I will see you tended to and tended to well before I leave. It is a debt I owe and a privilege I value. I will take care of you, Gregory, for you deserve that from me. And when we part, it will be with regrets and I _will_ remember you. Fondly…


	24. Chapter 24

John took a moment to clean himself up and was a bit disappointed, to be honest, that when he returned from that bit of washing the communication device had gone dark. He actually had looked forward to talking to Mycroft’s brother but this did give him time for a soothing cup of tea to help clear his head and process everything that had happened tonight.

Of course, that cup of tea went flying to meet a violent end in the small kitchen sink when a sharp ‘JOHN!’ was barked into the room as the communication machine snapped back into function.

“Was that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have a limited range of vision with this contraption and had no idea if you were or were not in the room.”

“Oh. Alright, that’s reason enough, I suppose.”

Mourning his lost tea, John decided to move onto the next best thing – alcohol – for lubricating the way forward through the evening.

“I will instruct Mycroft on improving his construction to better permit my observing the happenings on your side of this communication.”

“I can see how that would be useful. Maybe he could put a spinny disc under you there that you could control to have a look about. Though there isn’t much to see here, really. It’s a tiny cottage.”

“Prison cells _are_ typically tiny.”

“Not a cell; a lovely little seaside cottage with excellent whisky, all the amenities one could want and plenty of room to roam. Or fly. Your brother seems happy here, all things considered.”

“He is never happy. I am not entirely certain he understands the concept.”

“Oh, he understands it. One look at him with Greg and it’s clear he knows what being happy is all about.”

“His servant? Well, he does bring my brother his food and that is always sure to put a ghastly grin on… Mycroft’s?... face. That is what you call him, correct?”

“Yeah and you’re Sherlock.”

“Our smallest, most dull-witted example of livestock can manage better than that for our names.”

“I’ll remember to offer it my congratulations if we ever meet. In any case, you said you had things to ask me?”

John settled into a chair and turned the screen slightly so he and Sherlock could easily converse.

“Yes. I require the sum of your medical knowledge concerning humans.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“That would take a very long time, I just lost my tea and if I stick to whisky, I’ll be dead of a rotted liver by the time I’m done.”

“Your personal weakness is not my problem. The humans we host, are.”

This time, John nearly lost his whisky, but firmed his grip at the last moment so he didn’t have breakage to clean on the floor _and_ in the sink.

“Wait… what? Humans? You have _humans_ on your world?”

“Two, I believe, at present. However, there have been up to eight individuals at once, though that was rather a long time ago.”

“How do they… portals. Sherlock, I’ve never heard of any humans traveling through a portal.”

“We don’t generally send notifications to their families.”

“Obviously not, but… how could we not have known?”

“That is not a question for me to answer.”

“No, but… I suppose if I think about it a few people here or there… people go missing all the time. There’s no reason to suspect they got swallowed up by a portal. We’ve never been certain if a human could even _survive_ going through one, actually. Strange nobody saw it happen, though.”

“We do not, either. See individuals taken by one. It seems portals are visible only on the side where they expel their contents, not on the side where they take them in. I have several theories about that and I hope the data I am collecting will provide further insight. In any case, unlike humans, our people have some measure of compassion for the abductees that are left in our charge and desire to provide them with proper care. We may begin with basics of human anatomy and physiology, then we may continue on to details on the most common human ailments and methods of treatment and cure.”

“Hey! We have compassion. Your brother could be rotting in a jail cell right now, without companionship or any speck of freedom while he waited to die. It’s a big expenditure of money and other resources to see his last months are contented ones.”

“Months?”

“Well, yeah. He did tell you what… ok, by the look on your face he didn’t.”

“Mycroft said we needed to make haste owing to the fickleness of humans and the likelihood they would terminate his life when they recognized he would not consent to give them any information about our people.”

Oops.

“Oh… ok, yeah, then. That.”

“You are lying.”

“Shall we start our human biology lesson with the circulatory system? Always one of my favorites.”

“Telllll meeee.”

Even though Sherlock was not physically in the room, John was convinced the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as if sensing the approach of a deadly predator. Not that he’d let on about it, though. Sherlock was insufferable enough as it was.

“That was nicely hissed. We humans can’t really hold a candle to you lot in the hissing department.”

“Tell me why my brother only has months remaining.”

John sighed, then realized that if he didn’t tell Sherlock he’d just ask Mycroft. And if he told Sherlock, then Sherlock would tell Mycroft he knew. Either way, Mycroft was going to murder him viciously and violently, so what did it matter if he filled in his new friend on a bit of harsh reality.

“Oh… I see. Interesting. Humans do not fare particularly well on our world, either, but they do last longer than that. Many linger for years, though their health declines terribly.”

“And that’s why you want to learn more about us.”

“That is one of the reasons. Now, I am wondering if it is possible to use that knowledge to prepare some form of… antidote… for our people who are ensnared and brought to your world.”

“Hmmm… I’d like to work on that with you, if I could. Honestly, Sherlock, we don’t bear any ill will towards your people and if we can save their lives, we’d do it.”

“To save your own.”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. The reason a goal is pursued is a separate issue than achieving the goal itself.”

“Alright, then. I can bring in whatever scientists and medical professionals…”

“No. Nobody must know of this.”

John blinked at the black-eyed form and wondered if Sherlock had suffered a knock on the head that occurred somehow out of his line of sight.

“Are you mad? The more resources we have…”

“It is not my intention to hand over an antidote so you can maintain the life of our people to torture them for information.”

“You sounded like your brother just then. Nicely done.”

“Would you deny the likelihood of that happening?”

“I… alright, I’d say it’s not entirely out of the question. Not at all guaranteed, though. But, there’s little I can do here on my own. I’m a doctor, not a medical researcher or biochemist.”

“Given your intellectual capability pales in comparison to mine, I was not relying on you for any glimmer of brilliance at research. You do, however, possess technical knowledge I lack and that is _highly_ useful. We shall now begin. You mentioned the circulatory system. I have no objection to that. Commence your lecture.”

John began his lecture with a presentation of typical human gestures designed to convey specific pointed meanings, then moved on to more relevant topics. Sherlock might not want anyone else involved in this at this point, which didn’t seem smart to his way of thinking, but if that’s what kept this connection going, then so be it. This was a golden opportunity, a once in a lifetime opportunity, really. The possibility of not only communicating with the Visitor world, but saving lives… making possible, perhaps, greater contact between their peoples to learn more about each other. This was utterly unbelievable but his belief wasn’t necessary to snatch everything he could from the chance he was being handed.

“Spleen? What sort of infantile word is spleen? Humans are a preposterous species.”

Even if that chance came delivered in a rather bastardy package…

__________

“Hmwhzzt?”

“Gregory?”

“Smee?”

“Yes, it is you, is it not. Might I see your eyes.”

“Dnwnna.”

“Not even as a treat for me? I do find them remarkable.”

Greg found it very difficult shoving his brain through the heavy fog that had rolled in at some point, but he continued to hack at the haze until he had cracked his eyes a sliver and turned his head as much as he could, nearly a quarter of an inch, towards the sound of Mycroft’s voice.

“There they are. Delightful as ever. Can you open them more for me to better gaze into their depths?”

Greg struggled to open his heavy-as-a-gravestone eyelids and felt a surge of pride that he cracked them a solid halfway open before they told him to sod off in no uncertain terms.

“Beautiful. As always. Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Ummmm… tired.”

“Of course. Nothing else?”

“Heavy.”

“Perfectly understandable.”

“Why?”

“John gave you medicine to help you sleep.”

“Oh. Why?”

“To give you time to be still and let your body rest.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Gregory, you remind me of a Sherlock when he was a child.”

“I’m not red.”

More red than you suspect.

“No, but you are endlessly inquisitive.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Gregory Les… I see your smile, Gregory. Are you making a joke?”

“Mebbe.”

“It was an hilarious one.”

“Yeah.”

Mycroft ran a hand across Greg’s cheek and took careful note of his skin temperature. Slightly elevated, but John had indicated that might be the case and it would not, yet, signal an infection.

“Do you have any other little jokes for me?”

“Yeah. Not… not sure if I can remember one now, though.”

“There is time later, then.”

“Why am I… I’m so tired.”

“As it should be.”

“Why?”

“Oh, Gregory… let us say you were… you had a small accident. John felt it proper for you to have time to rest and let your body heal.”

“Ac… accident?”

“Of a sort.”

“I… I remember… wait. Sherlock. He was here?”

“Not precisely. We shall discuss the matter in detail once you are more awake. For now, will you…”

“John… John saw Sherlock…”

Mycroft growled softly because it seemed that Greg’s mind had latched onto something and was refusing to let it alone for the time being.

“Yes, he did. However, all is fine. They are conversing, actually, while you have your rest. All is well, Gregory. Now, return to sleep. It is good for you to sleep.”

“I… I tried to… you were going to kill John.”

That had Greg cracking his eyes open a bit more, though they still remained heavy lidded and slightly unfocused.

“A momentary lapse of judgement. He lives, with naught to show for my temper. Not the tiniest scratch.”

“But… I remember…”

“Rest, Gregory.”

“No… you were… wait. Me. I got… I got in the way.”

“That you did! You were most swift in producing a change of situation.”

“Oh. Good?”

“John is hale and hearty. Was that not your intention?”

“Yeah. It’s…”

“Gregory, do not dwell on matters now when you require sleep.”

“Why?”

“Not this again.”

“ _Accident_? How?”

Mycroft sighed and moved from the chair he’d been occupying, slowly and carefully joining Greg in his bed, wrapping his body around the injured man.

“You had an accidental encounter with my claws.”

“Oh. Did it hurt?”

“Likely not, actually. You went rather insentient immediately after the incident.”

“Good.”

“It was, wasn’t it. And John has ensured that you currently feel no pain now. That is also good.”

“Yeah. Will… will I have more scars?”

An interesting concern. But Gregory _had_ proven himself a highly interesting man.

“Most certainly. Very attractive ones.”

“Yes! Gotta… gotta stay sexy for my fans.”

“You are even more so now than ever.”

“That’s a lot of sexy.”

“A bountiful harvest of sensual beauty.”

With a mind already distracted from unpleasantness that is best discussed at a later time.

“You… will you stay here awhile?”

“But, of course! Why would I deny you the pleasure of my body?”

Mycroft smiled gently as Greg made what he probably thought was a proper budge to get closer when, really, he just swayed slightly and didn’t shift position in the slightest. Which was fine, of course, because when two people were in bed, _either_ of them could do the budging, though Mycroft was extremely careful not to distress Greg’s already distressed form.

“Warm…”

“Take of my warmth whatever is your fill. I shall simply make more.”

“I’ll take lots. Feeling… I’m cold.”

Mycroft lay a kiss on Greg’s temple and began humming a slow, languid tune while he pulled the blanket higher to tuck around his companion.

“That’s lovely.”

“Thank you. A song from my world.”

“Keep humming?”

“If I do, will you allow it to lull you to sleep?”

“Mebbe.”

Said sleepily, my dear human. Excellent.

“Then I shall hum for you. One day, perhaps, I will sing for you. I have not done so in years, but for you… I might be persuaded.”

“I’d like that.”

“Consider it a reward for taking the rest you need.”

“Promise?”

“My word is yours.”

Mycroft returned to humming and lazily ran his hand under the blanket across Greg’s chest. If his people could see him now… the icy, distant king, who was as much feared as respected, humming a lullaby to a fragile human. For no other besides Gregory had he ever felt such an urge but he was happy to bring a contented smile to the man’s lips as he drifted off to sleep. It was an honor, really, to give Gregory comfort and warmth. An honor and a pleasure. If only they had met on his home world; if only Gregory was one of his kind. What fun they would have… what adventures, what nights of ecstasy…

But it was never to be and there was no good to come of brooding over what could not come to pass. They would enjoy their time together and Gregory would have of him what no other could boast – time, affection, protection, a smile in the morning and a song in the night. Perhaps that was the price of being a king. For all you had, some things were forever out of your reach.

“Ummm… Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“Some… some water?”

“If you like. I shall have to retrieve it, though.”

“Ok…. thanks, love.”

Mycroft froze in place and cut startled eyes towards Greg, whose own eyes were still closed, though his serene smile remained happily on his lips.

It was nothing, of course. A mere term let slip by a chemically-soothed brain. He had heard it on the television numerous times, for pity’s sake. Naught but an affectionate name for anyone you might claim as a friend or acquaintance. Nothing more. Gregory likely would not remember having uttered it by the time he had returned with a drink of water. A toss-away term which merited little contemplation. In any case, with access to Sherlock now facilitated, the timeframe from escaping this prison had accelerated, giving them even less time together than he had anticipated. And, naturally, he and Gregory would never meet again except in their memories. Memories which, for Gregory, would not even exist terribly long once they had said goodbye…


	25. Chapter 25

This time when Greg woke it was a different story than the last two times, which he scarcely remembered. This time it was to a mass of discomfort that wasn’t quite pain but let you know the only reason it _wasn’t_ pain, and dreadful pain at that, was the helpful influence of some cocktail of medical chemicals your name needed to be Doctor to pour for your customers.

“Ugh…”

Cracking an eye, Greg looked about the bedroom for the troll or elephant that had stomped on him, then pissed on his corpse for good measure, and saw nothing in his top-half-of-the-room line of sight which had him reconsidering the muscle strength of pixies until Mycroft walked into the room carrying a Coke and a glass of water.

“Gregory?”

“Maybe?”

“While you consider matters more thoroughly, do your best not to distress yourself. Are you trying to sit upright?”

“Yeah.”

“Kindly stop.”

“Why?” 

Mycroft set down the beverages and made a show of tucking the blankets more cozily around Greg’s body.

“There. Please be restful and calm, Gregory. You are injured and abrupt, forceful motion will not benefit your condition. Are you thirsty? I have for you some fresh water.”

Greg narrowed his eyes at Mycroft but privately admitted that if Mycroft was advocating just laying there quietly, there was probably a very good reason since he was easily capable of admonishing him for being sluggardly with an equal amount of breath.

“That sounds good. My mouth is … yucky.”

“Did something crawl into it while you were sleeping?”

“What? No! Actually, I have no idea. Now, I’m worried, though. Maybe that’s why I feel so rotten. Let’s start with water, though. Maybe that’ll wash down in one go both the yuck and whatever trailed it across my tongue.”

Mycroft held steady the glass that he moved towards Greg’s mouth, helpfully provided with a straw, and kept it steady while Greg took a series of sips, swirling each around his mouth before swallowing.

“Thanks. Though… give me a sip of that Coke.”

“Why?”

“It’s better than water.”

“True.”

The routine was repeated, this time with the new beverage and the straw transferred from the water glass, and Greg found that, as usual, the day-after, whatever the ‘after’ had followed, simply wasn’t helped much by plain water, no matter how cold, fresh and plentiful it was.

“Definitely better than water. Ok, I feel like shite and… I’m a bit fuzzy about why.”

“That is likely an artifact of the medication with which John has infused you.”

“Yeah, I suspected that. It’s… ok, it feels like I have bandages or something.”

“Yes, quite a quantity, actually.”

“That’s not good.”

“It is better than having none when they are needed.”

“Point taken. If I ask you to just fill in the details and not have me play guessing games, would you do that?”

“Must I?”

“It’s that or we play 20 Questions and I really try to use my brain which I’d honestly rather not do a lot of right now.”

Mycroft would much prefer Greg fathom things out on his own, with himself happily sipping his Coke in the sitting room, but shirking responsibility was not a quality a king could boast if they wished to keep their heads attached to their bodies. And Gregory deserved more than quivering cowardice.

“Do you remember Sherlock interrupting our conversation last night?”

“I do… oh, I do, actually. John was here. He saw, didn’t he?”

‘Yes, and was preparing to alert the military, which I could not allow so…”

“You tried to slice him like a loaf of bread.”

“Yes, though that, ultimately, did _not_ occur and he spent the evening in conversation with Sherlock while I kept watch over you in here.”

“He’s… going to keep this quiet, right?”

“Yes. John was made to understand the nature of our work and why it would benefit no one, not even the humans, if that work was made known.”

“Good. I’ll add in my own support for keeping this secret for now the next time I talk to him, but if John says he’ll keep mum about it, then I trust his word.”

“I am not so confident, however, enlightening others as to our work would certainly curtail his personal access to Sherlock and… they seem to have embarked on some initiative of their own. At the very least, I was astonished to find my brother holding a prolonged conversation with anyone on an actual matter that interested him. He… does not interact well with others, as a rule.”

“Ooh, little brother found a friend?”

“I would not take the situation to those lengths, but it is interesting, nonetheless.”

“And John lives to chat another day. Now… am I as lucky?”

“You are not in imminent danger of expiring, if that is your question, and I have informed John that the situation shall not change due to medical negligence or his camaraderie with my brother will not spare him my wrath.”

“Ok, I’m sure he appreciated that not at all but… just tell me the damage, Mycroft. It’s… it’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Decidedly not lethal, so there is a great expanse of territory before one might deign to term it… bad.”

“Oh god…”

“Some rather notable gashes along your flank, one of which required a touch more attention than simple suturing to repair.”

“How much more?”

“Uhhhh….”

“Not filling me with confidence, Mycroft.”

“In truth, I am more worried about your reaction to the treatment than your reaction to the general level of damage.”

“Was that supposed to help?’

“Apparently not. Perhaps a visual inspection will be more clarifying.”

“Probably. Let me sit up and…”

“Stay where you are, Gregory. I have visual documentation on the tablet.”

“What?”

“I took photographs when John performed a check and changed the bandages. It was a baseline reference for… how successful was the continued progress of your treatment. One moment…”

Greg frowned because it was really hard to do otherwise given that pronouncement and stewed the few seconds it took for Mycroft to pick up the tablet, tap and swipe, then take deep breath before holding it up for Greg to see.

“What?”

“I require more reference in your question to propose an informative answer.”

“I actually suspect that’s not true, you bastard.”

“Your suspicious nature is not my concern.”

“Bastard and another scoop of bastard added on top because it’s a special day. Why am I red?”

“Your temperature is elevated?’

“Bastard.”

“You… are flushed with lust?”

“Bastard canastard.”

“That is… is that a word?”

“Moving on! What’s your third lie? Three times the charm, they say.”

“I…”

“Better be a good one because its memory will be the only thing you have to keep you happy when I punch those fangs of yours down your fucking throat.”

“You are growing agitated. I believe you require a pill.”

“Nope. And why are you favoring your right arm? Normally, you seem fairly ambidextrous, but that left arm has been a bit lazy so far and I’d like to know why.”

“It is a bastard.”

“I’m taking these bandages off…”

“NO! Gregory, leave your injuries to heal without your poking and prodding. If you must know…”

“I must. I really, really must.”

“One of your wounds was… more significant than the others and John was unsure he could manage the situation without taking you to the military base which was, of course, unacceptable…”

“Why?”

“I could not go also.”

Greg found himself experiencing zero interest in protesting that particular statement.

“Carry on.”

“I verified certain thoughts with my brother and we agreed that… there was a worthwhile probability that my tissues would successfully marry with yours and provide the necessary additional material required for repair. And, we were correct.”

“You grafted a part of you onto me.”

“That… yes, that is the situation, in simple terms.”

“Ok, this I have to see.”

“Gregory, no.”

“Gregory, yes. Look! These bandages are filthy. I need clean ones anyway.”

“There is, at best, two flecks of blood on your bandages.”

“Like I said, filthy. Imagine what’s on the underside if the topside is drenched in blood and ooze.”

“Which isn’t the case here, so your point is moot.”

“I said imagine. Now, let me find the edge of the tape… that’s always a bugger to do…”

“Gregory, John is no longer here to tend to you if…”

“You forget that they trained me for this job. And, you learn a thing or two about bandaging injuries when you’re with the police. Did John leave supplies?”

‘Yes, but for his own use when he returns later to check on your condition.”

“He’ll bring more, I wager a sausage on it, so me having a look at my fleshy apocalypse won’t harm anything.”

Mycroft huffed and slapped away Greg’s fumbling fingers to carefully begin cutting away bandages, John having provided suggestions and scissors for doing so when Greg inevitably tried to do it himself once he woke up. After a few moments he was setting aside the last of the soiled bandages and propping up Greg’s head and chest with another pillow so he could better survey the damage.

“Ok… that’s a lot worse than I thought.”

“I am sorry, Gregory. It was not my intention to hurt you. Not again.”

“I know… and I’m not even angry about it, really. Not happy about it, you understand, but not particularly angry. I’ve seen situations like that countless times where things are tense and people act on instinct. I could have knocked John out of the way and probably avoided either of us seeing much damage, but my cop instincts were to subdue the perpetrator and that got me… ok, I’ve got to play with this.”

Greg started poking at the strip of very red flesh stitched into him and giggling while he did it.

“What is so amusing?”

“It’s red.”

“That was evident before you touched it.”

“It doesn’t feel red, though. Feels like skin.”

“You have touched my skin numerous times and this did not occur to you?”

“It did, but… whee!”

Greg was using his forefingers to drum on the new addition to himself and Mycroft found his eyes rolling in what he refused to view as fond exasperation.

“That is likely not recommended for successful healing, Gregory.”

“Don’t care.”

“John will be most displeased.”

“Still don’t care.”

Mycroft gently took Greg’s hands and lifted the two extended fingers up for a kiss.

“Let us use your fingers for something more health-promoting, shall we?”

“Prostate massage?”

“What?”

“Fine! What’s your idea? I wager it’s nowhere near as fun.”

“Gregory… why am I suspecting that your medication is affecting your rational thought.”

“Dunno, but you have to admit that suspecting things isn’t nearly as fun as having your happy button rubbed. And by an expert!”

“I am now doubting that your medication is the culprit for your exuberance.”

“That’s… ok, it’s not particularly whatever meds John has me on but I _am_ sort of excited about this, as horrible as I’ll probably feel when my meds wear off and I’m weeping in agony. Look! I’ve got actual non-Earthly stuff grafted onto me and I doubt anybody else in the world can claim that!”

Greg’s bright grin suddenly faded and was replaced by something far graver.

“Mycroft… that’s… that’s a big chunk of stuff. Oh god… what did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing about which you need care.”

“I do care! I care a fucking lot! How badly are you hurt? John gave you something, right? Let me check. You’re too bloody stoic and I-care-not to say anything if you’re oozing infection or something’s about to fall off of you.”

“Pish tosh.”

“That’s it.”

Greg began to rise from the bed and, as he suspected, Mycroft’s quick move to stop him pinpointed where the chunk of Visitor flesh had come from when Mycroft hissed at a quick flexing of his bicep.

“There we go. The lazy left arm reveals itself like the culprit in one of those Agatha Christie mysteries. Show me, Mycroft.”

“Gregory, there is no…”

“Please?”

Mycroft looked a long moment into Greg’s eyes, then slowly peeled off his jumper and shirt to show Greg his bandaged arm, the bandage being nearly from elbow to shoulder.

“No… oh Mycroft. I’m so sorry…”

“Gregory, I nearly ended your life in a bloody and violent manner.”

“Yeah, but… that looks bad.”

The human was sporting a number of sutures uncountable by mathematics and wagering the flesh of an alien being would successfully meld to his and prevent a catastrophic collapse of his structural integrity but _this_ looked bad.

“Naught but a scratch.”

“Ooh, that was a big lie. I’m surprised you could stretch your mouth wide enough for it to crawl out.”

“Gregory… the priority, in terms of health issues, is you, not me.”

“I disagree. I’m lying here, not feeling any pain. Can you say the same?”

“I am not lying in the bed as you clearly see.”

“And the pain bit?”

“Fleeting.”

“Meaning horrendous but lying about it makes you feel virtuous.”

“Untrue. Virtue is for the weak and I am in no manner weak.”

“Let me see the damage.”

“It is frigid in here. I am again donning my clothing to ward off the chill.”

“It’s that bad, huh? Yep, that’s what I thought. Mycroft… I really am sorry.”

“Once again, since you appear hard of hearing, it is _your_ health that is of concern, not mine.”

“Not really, because…”

Greg paused and something besides his current cheeky humor rose in his eyes.

“… there’s a chance you’ll be going home. Carrying on with your life which, hopefully, will be a long and productive one. Can’t say the same for me, can you?”

The shock of the statement rocked Mycroft back in his chair but, in retrospect, it was a sentiment that should have held no surprise for him.

“Gregory… it is not healthy to frame your perspective in such a fashion.”

“I fall over dead tomorrow and what have I lost? A handful of weeks, months? Yeah, I’d rather have all of those left to enjoy, sure I would, but you can’t balance months with decades. You do yourself a true mischief to that arm and it’s the rest of your life you have to suffer with it and… I don’t like the thought of that. Not at all. Not in the slightest.”

Mycroft reached out and shifted a bit of hair that had fallen across Greg’s eyes.

‘I do not like the thought of you suffering a painful and debilitating injury for even a span of days, so we are, I feel, matched well in concern.”

“So be honest with me?”

“Very well… it is painful, likely I shall sport a scar from the injury, though it will not be as pronounced as a human would wear, but I shall suffer no impairment of function as I _did_ take care not to damage the underlying muscle when I removed the surface tissue.”

“You removed it?”

Mycroft fully extended a claw and smirked at Greg’s ‘no no I don’t want to see that or think about it oh god I feel sick’ waving of hands and queasy grimace.

“I trust my dexterity wielding a sharp implement far more than that of a human.”

“Yuck… but ok. I can’t argue and I don’t want to because that means I have to keep thinking about it and that’s another thing I really don’t want to. But I _am_ grateful, Mycroft. Don’t think I’m not just because I’m having a mental meltdown from the sheer grossness of it all.”

Gregory’s wounds would likely nauseate the majority of the human species with one glance, but he was sickened by this far more minor affair. The man was truly baffling, at times.

“And I am grateful you did not allow my instincts to run their intended course. Doctor Watson may prove useful in a variety of unexpected ways, in addition to distracting my brother from his typically obstructive behavior. 

“Still not sure they’re becoming friends?”

“I hope not, for it is a friendship incapable of thriving given the circumstances. I anticipate that once we have established a successful and stable portal for my return home, I shall carry with me all evidence of the communications technology and that will terminate any ability to continue the sharing of information.”

“Really?”

“You believed otherwise?”

“I… well, I thought, maybe, that since this does seem to work, you and me could use it to stay in touch. At least, for awhile.”

“Impossible. I cannot allow even the slightest chance of this technology falling into the hands of your military. Given we have no idea when or where your own end will be found, the disposition of your possessions cannot be guaranteed.”

“Oof… harsh, but true.”

“Oh… was that… yes, that _was_ rather unkind, wasn’t it.”

“Well, I was the one bringing up my imminent death first, so I can’t wag a finger at you doing it, too. And I won’t! Today’s not a day for wallowing in self pity. I’ve got a bit of red on me.”

Greg giggled and began tapping his new bit of body again, hoping he’d successfully diverted Mycroft’s attention from weightier matters. He was trying, he really was… even through the medication, he felt awful and was having some fairly terrifying thoughts about what had nearly happened to him, what did happen and what could happen _because_ this happened and… it was making his brain swirl to the point all he could do right now was slap a smile on his face and wait until some of that brain swirl settled down and he could process it properly.

“Gregory…”

“Hmmm?”

Greg’s brain swirl had prevented him noticing that his tapping had stopped, he’d lost his grin and his eyes shifted from gleeful shine to something faraway and sad, all of which had Mycroft carefully crawling into the small bed, wrapping his hot body gently around the man who had failed utterly at concealing his actual thoughts.

“You are distressed.”

“No, that’s just daft.”

“Then you are daft _and_ distressed. For both I will offer what comfort I can until John arrives to inspect your progress and provide, perhaps, a more effective treatment for your pain.”

“I’m not…”

Mycroft growled menacingly and glared into Greg’s eyes until Greg gave a short, resigned laugh and began running a hand along Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Ok, maybe I’m being a bit of a monkey so you, and me, don’t feel quite as dreadful. I’m feeling heavy and sick right now and, yes, I’m wondering how many of my potential days left I lost because of the energy and physical resources I’ll have to spend to heal all of the damage. I’m fighting that this is the second time I’ve been carved like the Sunday roast and I _really_ don’t want to feel more pain in my life. And now… I had a hope that maybe I’d have the chance to talk to you, at least, once you leave. I know you’ll be insanely busy, what with being a king, but it would be nice to still have that chance to talk and laugh. I think we do a good job of it and… it’s nice. Important, really, because it’s not something you find with everyone you meet. It’s selfish of me, I know, but having someone to talk to, some I trust and who knows my situation… I think about it sometimes since I have no idea what’ll happen if you do make it home. Will they let me stay here or turn me out for someone else and their Visitor to take over. Where will I go? What sort of shape will I be in at that point? That’s been at the back of my mind since you first made contact with your brother and it’s looming larger now. Starker and maybe a touch more bleak. It’s a lot, not a happy lot, either, and I didn’t want to drop it all on you since it’s not something you need concern yourself with and can’t fix anyway.”

Greg shrugged slightly and kept his eyes fixed on what he could view through his bedroom window so he didn’t have to see how Mycroft was reacting to any of his speech. He was scared to know if it was pity, contempt or something even more upsetting because the thing he hated most in the world was feeling weak and needy, two things that were currently kicking him squarely in the bollocks and showing little signs of stopping.

“Gregory… you believe they will cast you out when I leave?”

“I don’t know what they’ll do, actually. It’s not my cottage any more than its yours. It’s… housing that comes with a job and if I’m not doing that job anymore then I’m not sure what’ll happen. It depends on how much time I seem to have left, I suppose. If I’ve still got some life left in me and there’s another Visitor in need of tending, they might put them here but if one isn’t available or I’m in no fit condition to help one in any case… oh, ignore me. Honestly, it’s just a large case of being pessimistic and a whinger and feeling like I could use a shower but I suspect that’s not on the doctor-approved list of activities so I’m being a horrid grouch. There’s no indication whatsoever the government will do that and lots of indication that they wouldn’t. Grouch is as grouch does, hence meet King Grouch. Hey! I’m a king now, too. Two kings for one castle, that’s novel.”

“Would… would John know?”

“About procedure? Probably. I’ll ask. If he leans towards the worst case scenario, I can start making arrangements. Maybe even stay nearby. There might be something for rent in the village so I can continue to have some simple, natural beauty in my life. I’d like that, actually. Continue to watch the sea, walk along the shore…”

“I will make certain you are offered that opportunity.”

“Gonna lecture the army on caring for the old and sick?”

“No, I will remind John that you were grievously injured saving his life so he takes the appropriate steps to see you properly provided for after I depart.”

“He’ll love that! Being browbeaten and threatened with death.”

“Slow and torturous death.”

“Even better!”

Mycroft did not like the scent of Greg, or the temperature of his skin, all of which said the human was fighting physical and emotional issues that were severely overtaxing his body, which was absolutely what said body did not need right now. There was little he could do to help, besides offer physical comfort and basic aid for medical and bodily needs, but what he could do he _would_ do. Poor Gregory… this was an abhorrent situation and he did not deserve to suffer so much in his life.

“If I could stay, Gregory… I would. Until I was no longer needed.”

Greg felt the tightening of the throat and chest, then salty sting in his eyes, that he remembered too vividly from when he was told his cancer had returned. This time, though, the reason wasn’t a terrible one.

“Th… thank you, Mycroft. That means a lot to me.”

“Until then, I shall care for you so you do not suffer the worry and can bear the pain. I do not understand the workings of this existence and why individuals of worth often see nothing of what they deserve, but I shall try to give you some measure of that while I am able.”

“Does that mean you’ll handle the laundry?”

Greg’s eyes were painted with a thick shine of unshed tears, but his smile was one of Mycroft’s favorites because it brimmed not only with mirth but honest and unreserved fondness.

“Of course not. I will, however, order more clothing for us so that we are not forced to wear soiled garments while you recover sufficiently to perform the chore yourself.”

“Bastard.”

“My mother swears that is not the case, but I shall make further inquiries. In the meantime, do you require anything besides water?”

“Ummm… maybe a bit of toast or crackers? Something plain.”

“I believe I can accommodate that request. Then you shall rest.”

“Yeah, that’s probably smart. Can I rest outside?”

“No.”

“Just for awhile?”

“Tomorrow. Perhaps. I will take the relevant measurements to ensure your bed can fit through the door, though I will have to turn it sideways, but…”

“What? No! A chair will be fine.”

“A chair will not be fine, as you should not be sitting upright for any prolonged period. I will move your bed outdoors and you may enjoy the view until you choose to return indoors.”

“Oh my god… forget I asked. I’ll wait the day or so until I can waddle out there myself.”

“I suspect you will require more than a few days before waddling is possible.”

“ _I_ suspect otherwise. Remember, I’ve got Super Skin! attached now. I’m invincible.”

“It does raise the quality of your tissues to a heretofore unmatched level for your species, however, I would still advise caution as you possess only a small morsel of my perfection.”

“Will the perfection stay red do you think?”

“I… I have no answer for that.”

“I’d like it to, if possible. Never had the urge for a tattoo, but this is rather striking. Does it work in reverse?”

“Why would you even consider attaching it interior side outward?”

“No, I mean, if you had a need, could you take something of mine and have it work?”

“I have no answer for that, either.”

“Oh well, just curious. I mean, I can’t see how this would work at all, really. Though it clearly does.”

“There…”

Mycroft was silent a moment and Greg glanced down to watch what seemed to be an internal struggle going on.

“Mycroft, if it’s a sensitive topic…”

“No, not at all. I am just seeking the best approximation I can for words in your language to describe the situation properly. For any human, say Doctors Watson or Stamford, it likely would _not_ work but… with my people there is an… energy… or essence… or field… shared by those who share of themselves with others. Prolonged time together, the exchange of affection, sex, care… to be both physically and emotionally joined… that is a gross oversimplification but members of family, lovers, deepest friends… those relationships create a connection that is not only bonds of heart and mind, but there is a physical component that manifests so that this sort of thing can occur more readily than with those who lack a similar connection. There is much in my language to describe it and the mechanisms by which it is created and maintained, but I am having difficulty finding analogues in yours. I was able to donate to you because of the connection we have established, but it would be unsuccessful with another human. And, unfortunately, I do not know of examples where a human, even one close to one of my kind, has done similar.”

“That’s… that’s beautiful.”

“Is it?”

“Absolutely. You thought it was possible that… given who we are… this loony scheme might work. It’s ummmm… it’s a good thing. Something good to know.”

Greg was feeling that pressure again in his chest and throat and attributed it to the normal whirling emotions associated with terrible injury. Not to the fact he was being wildly emotive over the fact that he wasn’t long for this world, but he was worth enough for someone to both want and be able to form a meaningful bond with him. It was a gift Mycroft might never recognize for its importance, but _he_ knew and it was something that would make Mycroft leaving him behind a little easier to bear.

“I am glad, though your description of my plan as loony is something we can debate when you are a bit stronger.”

“Uh oh.”

“I will however, make a start on your plain nourishment. It shall be toast.”

Mycroft slowly extricated himself from Greg and the bed, pausing a moment to return the blankets to cocoon the injured man and place a small kiss on Greg’s forehead. Gregory was reading too much into the connection that allowed the tissue transfer to succeed, however, if the idea gave the human pleasure, who was he to try and change his mind? Whatever comfort or mental ease he could provide _would_ be provided for his most recent exchange with Sherlock set in motion a new tangent for their communication strategy that should facilitate the development of a portal most helpfully. He needed to have John bring along certain components with him when he returned this afternoon to begin construction. And John would also need to bring… whatever it was humans enjoyed as special. Chocolate? That seemed to feature in much of the world’s fiction and advertising, which were really much the same thing but both were taken seriously so there was merit on that fact alone. 

Or, perhaps, some of that ice cream. It was delicious, that much was certain, but was it special? Was it worthy of being bestowed to someone who was suffering upset and deserved the bolstering effect of a rare and precious treat? Did ice cream come in chocolate form? Hmmm… hopefully the good Doctor Watson did not mind a mission to undertake before he arrived today. Even if he did, it was immaterial, since arriving here without chocolate ice cream would render him incapable of undertaking a mission as simple as breathing ever again…


	26. Chapter 26

“They won’t throw you out, Greg. Even if they tried, I can put a stop to it on medical grounds. Or… ok, maybe I couldn’t put a complete stop to it, but I could arrange you be transferred back to Stamford’s facility and… it’s not as nice as it is here, but it’d still be on the government’s bank account. Your contract is actually for the duration of _your_ life, not the duration of Mycroft’s, so that’s one worry you shouldn’t carry on your shoulders.”

The relief in Greg’s face was clear and stark, telling John the worry had been a bit more than the ‘small question, John’ that had started this particular conversation.

“Well, good to know. I’ve grown attached to this cottage and would prefer to stay here than try and get used to a new place.”

Mycroft had become very attentive to Greg’s scent and felt himself relaxing at the change in the human’s aroma. Words were meaningless when you could say what you liked but there was no mistaking his Gregory’s acceptance of and happiness for this bit of news.

“Glad to be of help. Now, to continue on with the glad helping… let’s see your new body art.”

Mycroft had lost the battle for putting Greg into something approaching normal clothing, but had won the skirmish for making the clothing loose and easily accessible for care, so it was only a quick unbuttoning of Greg’s shirt and careful lifting of said shirt off his body for John to get a look at the carnage.

“Still shredded like a cabbage, I see.”

“Yeah, no pixies popped it to sprinkle their dust on me, but I can’t say I feel particularly worse than I did this morning. Of course, that could be due to the pain medication, but I prefer to think it’s completely the work of my manly physical fortitude.”

“Adding a notation in your file that you’ve gone insane. I’m not seeing anything that worries me, beyond the obvious and the insanity, that is, so that’s a hopeful sign, especially for that strange slab of bacon someone sewed onto you. As I told Mycroft, though, anything at all you notice about that, notify me immediately.”

“Will do. And I’m cleared to go outside today, right?”

“No.”

“Where’d John go? Mycroft did you throw him out the window? I asked a question and didn’t get an answer. John must have vanished into thin air.”

John knew it was a violation of medical ethics to thump his patient, but his ethics easily stretched to accommodate the flick he gave to Greg’s ear.

“Give yourself another day or so in bed, you horrible patient. The less strain you put on yourself and your various injuries, the better and quicker you’ll heal. Consider it one of those rare and beloved periods in your life where you had a couple of days with absolutely no obligations, responsibilities, lingering work or commitments and you could just lay on the sofa, watch some telly and enjoy every second of being utterly useless.”

“Can’t! That requires take-away and beer. I don’t have either. Ran out of beer and Mycroft refuses to place an order so we can have more. He’s mean.”

John shook his head and continued on with his checks, though he took special satisfaction sticking the thermometer into Greg’s ridiculous mouth.

“Just enjoy the rest. And stay away from whatever alcohol you _are_ stocking here right now because it’s not a good mix with your meds. Seriously, Greg, this is bad and you need to treat it as such. The world won’t stop spinning if you have to spend a couple of days in bed reading and watching a film or two.”

“How many days is ‘a couple?’ Can I spend them on the sofa instead?”

“A couple means whatever it means. Honestly, I’d like to see you a least week off your feet, but I doubt you’ll do that, no matter what it means for your health. Try your best to give me at least three or four more and then it’s only light activity for another three or four. We’ll reassess at that point. And, I’d prefer you spend your downtime here in bed where you can fully stretch out, which that bit of mini-furniture you call a sofa won’t allow.”

“Bring Gregory something better.”

John rolled his eyes but not so Mycroft could see him. The Visitor had been calm up to now, but that could change in an instant with rather bloody results.

“You don’t have room for a large sofa AND it’s only for a few days, so Greg can manage easily enough.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Very acceptable and unless you want him in pain and needing a longer recovery time, you’ll just do the smart thing and let him rest.”

Greg’s rude noise was nicely matched with Mycroft’s low, dangerous growl, but John didn’t feel the imminent need to leap for safety.

“Now that we have that sorted, I’ll put some fresh bandages on your saggy self and leave you to it! Whatever ‘it’ is going to be that won’t earn my abject disapproval when I find out about it later.”

John never had much luck with the serious look/finger shake combination and failed as miserably as he expected cowing his patient and patient’s nurse into contrition. But, if it even made them pause a moment before doing something daft, he’d claw back some measure of success.

But, given the look Greg was given by Mycroft before Mycroft left the room to get Greg a glass of water, that measure of success would need a microscope to quantify…

__________

“John is going to kill me for this, but… ahhhhhhhh….”

He was still in bed. Nobody could question that. The fact that Mycroft had brought the bed outside as he’d threatened and piled it with blankets so this old DI could lay slightly propped and look out over the sea did not violate the staying in bed edict one tiny bit. The few minutes he’d spend lying on the floor while the bed was being taken outside was absolutely something he had no memory of whatsoever, either.

“You are comfortable and resting; there is nothing about which John can complain, though I have little doubt he shall do so and at full volume.”

“That’ll be entertaining. You said the seaside was beautiful on your world. Can you ever take time and just set up a chair to relax and look out over the waves, letting the brain wander where it will?”

“No. Not… entirely. I find what small moments I can and I can often spend a brief while enjoying the view. It is mentally cleansing.”

Mycroft had brought out one of their armchairs for his own use and set a side table between them to hold their drinks and plate of bread and cheese bits of which he carefully provided to Greg upon request. With sufficient bundling, he was finding the whole experience rather enjoyable.

“Rather like looking up at the night sky, at least for me. Sometimes you just need to let yourself let go of concerns and mental burdens and fill up your melon with some genuine beauty and… quiet. It’s strange how the noisy sea can seem quiet, but it does.”

“Your concept of ‘white noise.’ I believe that is the correct term.”

“It is! They sell machines for that, actually. Good for people who have trouble sleeping or just want to blanket out the noise of the city, neighbors being pricks, that sort of thing. Never had one myself. Maybe I should have, though.”

“Or more often taken yourself to the water’s edge.”

“Not an easy thing in my job. I did my best to take a nice holiday once a year or so and enjoy my off days when I had them, but… you know how it is when you’ve got responsibilities.”

“Unfortunately, yes. There are many a day where… fr$hlcn^v&&kzza!anh*czz…”

“Come again?”

This time, though, Sherlock was loud enough for Greg’s human ears to hear.

“Your baby brother calls.”

“That he does. With his usual adamancy.”

“Does it sound important?”

“It rarely does, but when his genuine concerns and his petty grievances are presented with the same tone, one learns to err on the side of caution.”

“Piece of cheese before you go?”

Mycroft smirked and pressed a small morsel of cheese into Greg’s mouth, then stalked off into the cottage to put himself further in the path of Sherlock’s shouting. For his part, Greg savored his cheese, then, slow as a snail with a hangover, reached for his water and had a shaky sip through the straw. Stupid John… the fact he was probably absolutely correct about how long it would take before he should be up and about did not diminish the bastardness. But, if he could have his chances to fill his lungs with good sea air and senses with the loveliness around him, then it wasn’t a recuperation he was going to hate terribly much. And Mycroft was more than willing to tote him about like a doll, with doll furniture, so he _could_ enjoy the loveliness. It was convenient to know someone with superhuman strength. They certainly had their uses.

After several minutes of enjoying nature, Greg heard footsteps behind him and smiled up at Mycroft, who had returned with one of their tablets.

“How’d the shrieking session go?”

“I do not shriek.”

Greg did, though, because that was Sherlock’s voice and it was very hear his head.

“It went well, I would say. Behold, Sherlock is freed from what he feels is his unjust confinement.”

Turning the tablet towards Greg, Mycroft smothered a grin at Greg’s astonished eyes.

“Sherlock?”

“Did you not hear my brother? I can understand why you might wish to avoid hearing him, given his dull, tedious voice, but it is difficult to imagine given his proximity to your ears.”

Greg stared at the face on the tablet and felt a quick frisson of something he couldn’t define. This was definitely a leap forward with communication and… it brought them one step closer, most likely, to sending Mycroft home. Which was something he hadn’t quite come to grips with yet in his own mind, though it _would_ come in time.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Surprised that your big head could fit on that small screen.”

Not a word of Sherlock’s response could Greg comprehend, though the tone translated the message with great efficiency.

“Mycroft, are you sure this was a good idea? Giving your brother free rein like this?”

“No, not at all, but he wanted to see better the environs. Gaze upon it, brother dear. Gather what information you desire while I enjoy a Coke.”

Mycroft took a seat and perched the tablet upright on his knee, rotating it slightly back and forth a few times before wedging it between his knees so both hands were free to return to his nibbles.

“Ghastly.”

“Your opinion is noted, brother.”

“Colorless.”

“A muted palette, I agree, but with its own appeal.”

“What are those creatures flying about?”

“Gregory tells me they are seagulls. I have studied them and feel there are also other birds scattered among the masses. They are amusing to observe.”

“Boring.”

“Of course.”

Greg was impressed by Mycroft’s ability to keep up his end of the conversation while, simultaneously, throwing small amounts of bread into a certain bedridden invalid’s open mouth. With perfect accuracy, too.

“What is that mineral?”

“I have no idea.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Naturally.”

Now a piece of cheese was landing in Greg’s happy mouth and a ferocious snarl given to a pesky seagull who’d landed close to Greg’s bed with a clear lust for thievery shining in its eyes. Next it was several moments of fleshier dialogue in the Visitor language which only slightly curtailed Greg’s access to food but had Mycroft finally standing and setting the tablet into Greg’s hands.

“Sherlock wishes to observe me flying.”

“Why?”

“That is an astute question and one for which my brother has only the flimsiest of answers.”

“Untrue! How else am I to investigate the gravitational field of that ridiculous planet?”

Mycroft stooped, lifted a pebble from the ground, then let it fall back into position.

“That is wholly insufficient.”

One thing Greg could now claim expert-level information on was the similarity between bratty baby brothers of the human and Visitor species. If you were blindfolded, you’d never know which was which…

“I think they actually have maps and the like of that sort of thing, lad. Your brother can probably find a few goods ones for you to study.”

“As if I trust your pitiful level of scientific advancement to properly document the phenomenon.”

“I tried. Into the air with you, Your Majesty!”

Sherlock’s complaints about Mycroft’s title being invoked were ignored in their entirety as Greg let his attention settle, instead, on the sight of Mycroft stripping off his jumper and shirts to unfurl his wings. The Visitor’s body was exquisite, even with a bandaged arm.

“And there he goes. Can you see what you want to see, Sherlock?”

“Yes. Do not shift my line of sight even the slightest.”

“Alright.”

“Your world is visually unappealing.”

“We like it.”

“Because you know no better.”

“Fair point. Did you know what our world looked like, though, before you saw it yourself?”

“No. We have descriptions but no visual evidence.”

“Then this is a momentous day! Are you recording any of it?”

“Yes, actually. This is scientifically interesting, though aesthetically boring.”

“That’s one point for us, I suppose. Could you… since you can do this to see our world, could you do the same so I could see yours?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“You and Mycroft both say it’s beautiful, so why not?”

“Spying?”

“No, just looking. I can understand why you wouldn’t want military types having a peek, but I’m just an old copper hoping for a lovely view.”

“And you are both socially isolated and soon to die, so it is not as if you have many opportunities to capitalize on your information.”

“Harsh. And not particularly accurate, since I could record it all and send a copy to whoever I wanted, but that’s not something I’m likely to do, no matter how much of a prick you are.”

“Very well. I suppose I might find time to craft something to permit you a measure of supervised viewing of our world.”

“Thank you. It’ll be a treat!”

And Greg was honest about that. He was suddenly feeling some hard-to-contain giddiness at the thought of being able to peer at an alien world. A world nobody else on this planet had seen! And he’d have a guided tour, too. This was going to be… he’d need to keep some wine or whisky nearby to keep him relaxed or he’d be embarrassing himself the whole time he was having a look. He’d hoped his final days would be interesting ones, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated _this_ level of interesting!

“Gregory?”

So interesting, in fact, that he lost all awareness of what was going on around him, so he startled like a cat hearing a loud noise when someone spoke softly in his immediate vicinity.

“Oh… sorry. Just thinking about Sherlock’s kind offer. He’s going to let me have a look about your world the way he’s having a look at mine. Isn’t that exciting? Lad will give me a guided tour just like I was a nice old gent strolling about a museum or something.”

Exciting was not precisely the word Mycroft would have chosen to describe this profound breach of security but the look of pure happiness on Greg’s face had him swallowing down any objection and giving the DI an indulgent smile instead.

“Most exciting. Sherlock, your generosity is appreciated. Gregory has been very curious about our home and will relish this opportunity to view it firsthand.”

“It is not generosity. It is a chance to demonstrate fully how superior is this planet to the lackluster orb you are standing upon.”

But, Mycroft was well aware from Sherlock’s tone that the insult was not in line with the actual truth. His brother’s curiosity was piqued as to what would be the human’s reaction to their home and probably eager to show off his various workspaces, given Gregory had show interest in both him and his environment. Sherlock rarely had anyone interested in him as a person, not as a prince, and the small bit of attention was meaningful to him.

“I stand corrected. Did you achieve what you hoped from my demonstration?”

“For now. I, however, reserve the right to another demonstration upon demand.”

“Strangely, I am not awash with surprise. Gregory?”

“Nope, not a bit of surprise washing.”

“You are both asinine. I now wish to study the ambient electromagnetic spectrum. I will be passing this signal through various filters and it is critical that you follow my instructions precisely for my data to be meaningful.”

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at Greg and set the tablet on the ground, on edge, so it faced the seagull that was continuing to intimidate them for food.

“I have no interest in that!”

Mycroft quickly turned the tablet volume down and smirked at what he knew was his brother continuing to complain while the gull approached closer for a better look at the situation.

“Ahh… Sherlock can, for the moment, study the fauna while we continue to enjoy our moment of serenity.”

“He’s going to make you pay for that, you know.”

“Oh, I do, however, most of his standard tactics require I be unable to absent myself from his presence, so my level of concern is low.”

“Perfect! And our bird friend is distracted, so I don’t have to guard our food with my life. I was getting worried for a bit, there.”

“I have little doubt Sherlock will continue to provide a distraction so long as the bird chooses to desire one. More water?”

“Sip of Coke?”

“That will leave me with less.”

“I’ll step up and be the one to chat with Sherlock once his new friend gets a bit bored with the visit.”

“Take as large a sip as you wish.”

__________

“Your human is asleep?”

Mycroft was further unwashed by surprise that his brother leapt upon his return to the sitting room within seconds of him leaving the bedroom. Sherlock did so enjoy maximizing the time devoted to attention paid to him. 

“He is. It was a touch difficult to convince him to take some rest, but I have promised to watch with him some film he enjoys later tonight and that was enough to gain his cooperation. And popcorn.”

“What is that?”

“An intriguing food. Small grain kernels that undergo a rather remarkable process when subject to sufficient heat. Excellent with salt and butter. Lots of butter.”

“Heated grain slathered with animal fat. That does not sound appetizing in the slightest.”

“Hence its remarkable nature.”

“More human nonsense. What progress have you made on the device?”

Mycroft looked about on the floor of the cottage, which had been decluttered only to the point where there were specific piles collected of various components and tools scattered mostly on the edges of the living space.

“Some. The technological development here is appalling. To have even a simple component manufactured or located is cripplingly slow.”

“I will do what I can to streamline the construction, however, it will not be as much as you might hope.”

“We do our best, brother, and hope it shall suffice.”

“Do you… do you feel healthy?”

That John had divulged his little secret had been a minor annoyance, but it was allowing his brother an excuse to actually show the concern he felt and that was a benefit not to be disparaged.

“I do. John noted that there was generally no form of warning, per se, but certain individuals described a small tendency towards sluggishness as the end drew near. I am not experiencing such a symptom.”

“Good. I am not content to be left here to wear your hideous crown. And be the sole target of Mummy’s meddling and botheration. Pursuant to that…

“Yes?”

“I have a plan for a method to make our collaboration more effective. To some degree, at least.”

“Which is?”

“I require you construct a device.”

“Another one? I may need to hire an assistant to keep lists of the various tasks you are requiring of me.”

“This should be somewhat simple, if my data from today is to be believed.”

“Oh, so you were not simply enjoying an hour conversing with a bird?”

“That was villainous! However, the creature did provide an acceptable subject for certain tests I wished to perform on the gravitational and magnetic fields of that world, as well as the atmosphere’s ability to filter electromagnetic frequencies.”

“A fortuitous meeting, then.”

“I believe so. Several assumptions I was prepared to make for further design modifications have, now, some basis to be accepted or refuted. I believe my confidence level has risen to 60% for success with our first attempt to use the portal.”

“Does success include my surviving the journey?”

“Must you always naysay my hypotheses?”

“I would rather not die en route, brother.”

“Given you will die _without_ trying the en route, I would say your complaining is pointless.”

“Perhaps. Maimed, then? Comatose? Transformed into a seagull?”

“Already exposure to the atmosphere of that pesthole has rotted your brain. Your sense of humor is worse than ever and I did not believe that was possible.”

“Gregory enjoys my humor.”

“He is a stupid human, what do you expect?”

“Gregory is _not_ stupid…”

Sherlock marked well his brother’s expression and tone of growl. The world ‘menacing’ was an appropriate descriptor.

“We agree to disagree.”

“No. I will not have you offer him such insult.”

Sherlock had rarely seen that particular flash in his brother’s eyes and, when he had, it meant devastating things for the person or persons who provoked it.

“Very well, I shall not.”

“He tolerates your jibes, brother dear, and it is acceptable that you offer them for they give him amusement, but an honest insult to him and you will hope the portal does disintegrate me because you will not bear my return in any other manner than with lifelong pain and disfigurement.”

And that was a threat Sherlock had an unsettling suspicion was not an idle one. Not in any manner.

“As I said, I shall not offer genuine insult.”

“Good.”

“Though I would ask…”

“No. You are permitted no questions.”

“Unfair!”

“Regardless. Move on, my dear brother, or move away to some other task that does not require we converse any further on this subject.”

Now it was Sherlock giving a menacing glare, but it was the same one he had given since he was young, so its effects were somewhat lost on his elder sibling.

“Excellent, I am buoyed by your silent, though fervent, agreement.”

“I am terminating this communication. I wish to practice my vn&krrt@lpoa*szt.”

“Very well, I will await your amended designs and continue on with the plans we have finalized to this point.”

“I… I also shall make the necessary arrangements for your human to see our world.”

“Thank you, brother. It will make him very happy, I suspect.”

“That is important to you.”

Said as a statement, not a question.

“It is. And, again, this is not a topic of conversation we shall pursue.”

“Forming a bond with him is not advised.”

“The very reason our relationship remains a collegial one and nothing more.”

“Is that also his perception of the situation?”

“Likely.”

“Meaning you do not know for certain but believe otherwise and wish to conceal that fact from me.”

“No, meaning he is a man not inexperienced in life and the various associations in which one participates as one _lives_ that life.”

“There was no meaning in that whatsoever.”

“Untrue. We have developed a… friendship, for lack of a better term… and it is one that offers benefit to us both. I, myself, find it most enjoyable, which is a unique thing for me.”

“That does have my agreement, however, my observations say the human sees matters in a different light. He will be hurt when you leave.”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his neck which was aching as it always did when his brother was following a tangent that should have been very much left alone.

“Yes… as one would miss a friend who one can never again see. He knows I shall leave, brother. There is no other option and Gregory is not sufficiently foolish to expend more emotion on our relationship than he can hope to receive back in exchange. I will leave, we will never again speak, and… well, there is nothing further.”

“I am not convinced.”

“I was not attempting to convince you. I merely stated the facts for you to do with as you please.”

“If… if you could not return…”

“I would die.”

“Assuming you did not…”

“Gregory would die.”

“Assuming he did not…”

“FHS$TyY&MDQ*C!LpW^lBxK! You are addled of wit and I will hear no more of your nonsense.”

“Assuming you would…”

Mycroft uttered a word that shocked even Sherlock and turned off the tablet to gain a moment’s peace. His brother was ever attempting to agitate him and today was not a day he had great patience for his antics.

“That was rude.”

Curse you television!

“Have you anything productive to say or shall I turn off this device, too?”

“I have decided that we will begin on the next phase of our communications mechanism. How many of the portable video devices do you possess?”

“Two. Three if the computer itself is included in the total. Or four, if you consider the television a fit machine for your needs.”

“Is that all?”

“If pressed, I might say Gregory’s personal communication device could be added to the list.”

“Five. No others?”

“Not for video. There is a radio, however, it only generates sound waves.”

“But receives electromagnetic signals.”

“Yes, within a certain range of frequencies. And… ah, yes, there is an emergency radio which, I believe, may have a slightly broader or different range of signal reception and transmission.”

“Perhaps…”

“You have an idea?”

“I _had_ an idea. I am now weighing its efficacy given the available technology.”

“Outline your plan. We can begin a feasibility analysis while Gregory rests. Then… I must prepare a meal.”

“What?”

“I will not repeat it.”

“You are not a cook.”

“I do not hold that job, no, however, I _can_ cook.”

“No, you cannot.”

“I have gained many skills during my stay here, brother. The ability to prepare food is but one of them.”

“I must witness this. Someone should document the moment you set yourself ablaze and meet a painful and crispy death.”

“You may join us for our meal if you wish.” 

“Very well. Let us begin.”

“On your plan or my crispy death?”

“Plan first, death second. I prefer my entertainment arrive after my work is completed.”

__________

Lying in bed, with a smile on his face, Greg wondered if having to _stay_ in that bed for a few more days would be as horrid a thing as he’d thought. Warm, cozy… 

No, sorry, he needed a piss and no amount of warmth and coziness could make lying in bed with an overfull bladder anything _but_ horrid. Mycroft wasn’t here, though, and he really didn’t want to give a shout for a lift to the loo… it wasn’t far, really, and his legs _did_ work. Those chaps in the action films were up and about getting into knife fights with space bugs with worse injuries than he had so he should be able to wobble his way a few steps to the toilet. The fact that he’d apparently tipped fully into the land of loony had no bearing on his thinking, either, why on earth would you even suggest that.

Shifting his body so that a leg dangled over the edge of the bed should not have been a maneuver fraught with pain stabs and a ghostly vision of a snarling Mycroft trying to frighten him back into bed, but Action Film Greg™ would not be cowed!

Fuck! He just wanted to stand to piss! Well, stand, then _walk_ to piss because there was little doubt that imaginary Mycroft’s snarling would increase ten-fold if he just stood and had a wee on the floor. Then he’d be shouted at for not wanting a pain pill before his little nap. And standing up. That was a lot of shouting.

With renewed sense of purpose, Greg slid his second leg off the bed then recognized a failure point of his great plan. He was going to have to sit up. Which involved his… middle. Which was a touch volcanic right now, spewing lava all over the helpless villagers. Admittedly, that only summed to his navel and associated graying hairs that kept it warm, but lava was indiscriminate when it came to helpless villagers. Onwards and upwards to show that pesky geologic disaster who was boss.

Didn’t scream! Gurgled, saw spots and nearly violated the ‘no pissing on floor’ ordinance, but didn’t scream! Of course, now some degree of motion was required and that sounded bad. Motion was hereby considered a bad thing by all right-thinking citizens of Great Britain. Who had lava on their villagers and a bladder screaming louder than one of those women coming face to face with the serial killer in a 1980’s slasher film. Hopefully she didn’t run towards the village, because it was really a tossup between molten lava and a serial killer’s knife as a preferred method of death.

Shuffling like he remembered his grandfather used to do when he was a million years old with three or four good whiskeys in him, Greg spent a leisurely month moving towards the bedroom door, which was an oppressive three or so steps from the bed, and congratulated himself for only resting against the door for an hour or two before turning the knob and braving the sitting room and the horrors that lay beyond.

Which was Sherlock.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Sherlock was standing in the sitting room, wearing a purple tunic and loose black trousers, with his finger in Mycroft’s face, which looked as bored as Greg might have anticipated if it wasn’t for the fact that the evil baby brother was a bazillion miles away on an alien planet.

“Ah, Gregory. I see you have completely violated every tenet of good sense and done your best to bring yourself to ruin.”

Face moving from bored to annoyed. Uh oh…

“Your human… I agreed not to directly call him stupid, however…”

“In this case it is properly applied, brother. Gregory, you are incredibly stupid.”

This day was going from bad to worse and his lava-drenched villagers wouldn’t be mucking in to save him…


	27. Chapter 27

“What… how the fuck did Sherlock get here? Is… oh my god, you already have a portal working!”

Mycroft strode forward and pulled off Greg’s shirt to check for gushers of blood seeping through his bandages.

“At least, at first glance, you have not caused yourself further harm. And, no. We have not created a portal. We simply are seeking to improve our collaborative efforts to make that possible. Sherlock is not here in body, though we have affected a mechanism to permit him to interact with the environment of the cottage. Now, I will return you to bed and…”

“Nope! I… I want to stay here and watch this. It’s amazing!”

“All we are currently doing is talking.”

“Amazing!”

Mycroft carefully spun Greg around and began marching him back to bed only to be sidetracked by Greg’s reason for getting out of bed in the first place. With comfort achieved and a glass of water acquired, the continuing on to bed recommenced, Sherlock startling the DI by following along into the bedroom with them. There was no shock in his appraisal of his surroundings, however.

“This is deplorable.”

“How are you in here!”

Mycroft made certain Greg was fully ensconced in his bed, with a slight prop of the head before taking the chair next to said bed and giving Greg a drink of water.

“We are using various of the communications devices and the cottage’s electromagnetic network to generate a representation of my brother to allow him to better see and discuss the work that is being done here.”

“He’s being WiFi’d?”

“I… I suppose so.

“Can he touch things?”

Sherlock walked forward and stood in the middle of the bed, which was precisely as terrifying as Greg would have imagined it to be.

“As you can see, my brother is leveraging communication technologies that exist on our world for more efficient in-person discussions and, on occasion, recreational visits to scenic or culturally-interesting locations and events. However, not even we have mastered the ability to physically control objects at distance using this simulacrum of ourselves.”

“Pity. He could be a useful pair of hands. Right, Sherlock?”

“In input on any issue is well-described as useful.”

“There we have it. Does this mean… Mycroft, can you WiFi home and do this simulperson thing?”

Mycroft blinked hard a moment, then opened his mouth, only to close it again with a snap.

“I have no idea. Sherlock?”

“I… never gave it any thought. You lack certain pieces of equipment I have with me now to accomplish this, but it _may_ be possible.”

“You should try! At the very least, it’d give Mycroft a chance to be seen by people who might be wondering where he is.”

Mycroft’s scheming mind gave Greg’s a collegial nod of admiration for some highly-strategic thinking.

“Ah… Gregory, that is an intriguing suggestion. Even if I departed again, so to speak, it would serve to diminish rumours that might be swirling. Sherlock, see what you can manage for that. In the meantime, Gregory, you will rest and if you wish to visit with my brother, he will gladly spend time in here at your disposal.”

“I will not!”

“Yes, you will if Gregory chooses. Gregory, do you so choose?”

“Can both of you visit and include me on whatever it is you’re planning? That would be _loads_ of fun.”

Said with a look in his eye that let Mycroft know a certain former DI didn’t want to be left on the periphery of any plans that, ultimately, impacted him, too.

“If you wish. All we hoped to do at present was inventory my current stock of components, tools and devices and script a list of further things I might require to move our project forward.”

“Which you can’t do in here.”

“Not really, no.”

“Ok, my mini-moment of attitude is now over. Go and do what you need to do. I’ll… lay.”

“That seemed somewhat sodden with attitude.”

“It takes an amazing man to lay with attitude. I am that man. Though, for the record, not sodden.”

Sherlock pointed at Greg as if showing a housemate the accident their puppy made on the communal rug, not that Mycroft paid it any heed.

“Excellent. We can, however, leave open the bedroom door so you can hear our discussion and ask questions, if desired.”

“That’s fair.”

Mycroft bent over and laid a kiss on Greg’s forehead before rising and striding out of the bedroom, Sherlock following, but only after giving Greg an inscrutable look that the DI didn’t even try to decipher because the very dark eyes made that a near impossible thing.

“We must have a conversation about your affection for your human.”

Mycroft snarled and quickly closed the bedroom door, much to the shouted displeasure of the man tucked into bed.

“Not this again.”

“There can be no ‘again’ when an initial conversation did not take place.”

“It did and I told you…”

“You care for him. Beyond the regard of a friend.”

“Shall we begin our inventory?”

“It is beyond denial at this point.”

“Untrue. We require an inventory and that cannot be denied.”

“Why do you refuse to admit that your feelings for him are… existent?”

“I have done so previously. That it is not to your satisfaction, for my admission did not fit your preconceived, albeit fictional, narrative, does not change that fact.”

“I will gain a confession from you sooner or later. Sooner would be far more pleasant, from your point of view.”

Mycroft snorted loudly and began sorting materials from one of his many piles for Sherlock to better scrutinize. Then he remembered the bedroom door and quickly opened it, ignoring Greg’s peevish pout.

“We have multiple sources of materials for this project, some faster and more attentive than others. The sooner we compile a needs list, the sooner…”

“When will John arrive?”

Greg’s laughter from the bedroom was supplemented by a small smile on Mycroft’s lips, both of which baffled Sherlock, a condition very much not to his liking.

“Why was that amusing?”

“No particular reason, brother dear. Perhaps because you are already hoping to see your new friend when your previous complement of friends totals naught for the entirety of your life.”

“Untrue! That you refuse to recognize any that are not of our ludicrous social class does not negate their existence.”

“Of course. In any case, Doctor Watson shall not return here until tomorrow. He performed a health check for Gregory earlier and has no reason to come here again until such time as another is scheduled.”

“Unacceptable. I have questions to ask him.”

“Acceptable or not, that is the matter as it stands.”

“Change matters.”

“No. Now, let us return to…”

“You must have a way to communicate with John. Use it.”

“Doctor Watson is a man with many responsibilities, Sherlock. This is his rest period. Allow him to use that period as it is intended.”

“The energy expenditure for answering questions is not particularly consequential. He can rest here.”

“This is nonsense. Either return your focus for your reason being here or begone.”

“I refuse.”

“Naturally.”

“Where’s my mobile?”

Sherlock and Mycroft turned attention to the voice emanating from Greg’s bedroom and waited for further shouts before responding. Something Sherlock had to glare Mycroft into doing because the king was now realizing that Greg’s mobile was somewhat… altered… at the moment.

“Why?”

When suffering unpleasant realizations, buying time was not the worst choice from the strategy arsenal.

“I want to make a call.”

His strategy did not purchase much time.

“Rest, Gregory. There is time for phone conversations tomorrow.”

Or not since there is a substantial chance your mobile cannot transform back to its original condition or purpose no matter how much I glare at it.

“I’m phoning John and telling him to get his arse here and join the party. He’ll be thrilled!”

And, now, so was Sherlock.

“Yes, summon John for this party so he can be thrilled, Mycroft.”

“The thrill will not be diminished in the slightest by being experienced tomorrow.”

“I disagree. And so does your pet human.”

“I’m not a pet, you miserable fucker!”

“I agreed not to call you stupid. All possible insults were not included in the pact.”

“WHAT?”

Mycroft wished Sherlock was corporeal so he could shove the lunatic out of the cottage, but tonight’s luck was not running in his favor.

“Calm, Gregory. Sherlock is simply being a #GGlknvdczy&r*dmq.”

“Which is?”

“A… troublemaker.”

“Ok, that makes sense. I still want my mobile, though.”

“Uh….”

“Mycroft has destroyed it and created it anew for a much more important purpose.”

“WHAT!”

Sighing loudly and making a gesture at his brother his mother would scold him terribly for, Mycroft stalked into the bedroom and tried to manifest an expression that wasn’t quite a glare but came across as one, though in a softer and more conciliatory manner.

“Mycroft, are you nauseated?”

Which failed completely.

“No, I am simply hoping to quell your upset at the state of your mobile. Its components were necessary for the system that is currently making Sherlock an even larger nuisance than he was previously.”

“You cannot be serious?”

“I can, for I am.”

“Wh… ok, I was going to ask why but you already told me and I have one-hundred-percent confidence in your honesty. This time.”

Mycroft almost took offence at the ‘this time,’ but had to concede that the point was a fair one.

“Simply order another.”

“And can you transfer my photos, contacts, music, videos, etc.?”

“I… can try.”

“Fuck a very large duck!”

“I forgot about such thing, I do admit and… I apologize.”

Greg seethed, but ultimately decided to err on the side of giving Mycroft a pat on the head for actually apologizing, something the king was still visibly out-of-sorts attempting.

“Fine. I… some of that I may have in the cloud and the rest… well, it would vanish soon enough anyway when my phone got wiped to donate to one of those charities that puts them in hands that need them but can’t easily afford them. No real harm done, I suppose. Pop that on the supplies list with a notation that mine got… dropped into the sea while we were taking a little boat ride. That way they won’t ask for the malfunctioning model for a potential repair.”

“Most clever.”

“Thank you. In any case, do we actually have any means of communicating with the outside world now?”

“I… uh…”

“Shit.”

“All is not lost! Sherlock deemed one of the tablets superfluous and we can use that for outside communication.”

“Lovely. We’re restricted to email and… email.”

“Does it not make phone calls?”

“Nope.”

“That texting business?”

“Nope. Or… maybe, but not without some help with an app or service or something I don’t know anything about.”

“Then email will have to suffice. I shall email John and instruct him to have our supply list filled, including a mobile for you and an additional computer for the both of us.”

“That’s a lot of list.”

“From what I gathered on the Internet, the amount of funds wasted by your government is disgraceful and I am not, in the least, disturbed by adding a pittance to their shameful sum.”

“Valid point. It’s going to get hard to explain why we’re needing so many electronics replaced but maybe I can say you’re unbelievably clumsy and they’ll believe it.”

“I think not.”

“It’s my story and I’m running with it. Now, go and email John and tell him to… no, don’t give him a warning Sherlock might be here since it’ll be a lot more fun to see his reaction when your brother descends on him like the Angel of Darkness and John can’t simply turn the telly away from him for moment’s peace. No, forget that. Bring me the tablet and I’ll do it. We need other things, too, I wager, so I’ll do the whole list at one time.”

“I am not content with you becoming agitated, Gregory.”

“By writing a list for the shops? How?”

“I… you become rather combative on the subject of cheese.”

“That’s because you said the excellent Stilton we had in was shit.”

“It tasted much the same.”

“Bring me the tablet and I’m putting a big wedge of Stilton right at the top.”

“And Cokes.”

“And Cokes.”

“Potatoes.”

“Can’t forget that.”

“Jam.”

“I know what to order!”

Sherlock’s ‘Mycroft has a wife. Mummy will be delighted!’ brought the conversation to an end as Mycroft stormed off to pound his brother into a puddle of the aforementioned jam, but paused long enough to dart back with the tablet for Greg’s use.

And make use of it Greg did, because it took a surprisingly quick moment to fathom out how to send a text with his tablet (since the government, apparently, had that feature installed on these models) and notify John that a party was starting and he was invited. As long as he brought Cokes.

__________

“Perfect!”

John rapping on the bedroom window and holding up both the Cokes and beer he’d brought earned him a hearty thumb’s up from Greg, who waved him towards the cottage door. The few seconds of travel time gave Greg enough opportunity to get himself fully snuggled in his bed and ready to listen to the upcoming show.

“AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWWWWWWWWWWWHAAAAAAAAAAAAASHERLOCK!!!!!”

That was worth the price of admission.

“John! You are loud and that will probably start Mycroft complaining again. Kindly stop.”

“GREGORY!”

“Oh, I stand corrected. Mycroft is also feeling loud. Goody.”

Greg’s evil cackle sounded out in the cottage, prompting Mycroft to stalk back into the bedroom with a snarl on his lips that made Greg cackle even louder.

“I do not know why you appear worried, John. Mycroft is stupidly infatuated with his human and will certainly not tear his head from his shoulders. He hates doing that, in any case, as he despises that he subsequently has to toss the head away like a ball and he finds it undignified for a man of his station.”

John’s brain was rapidly going offline, overwhelmed by the sight of Sherlock standing in the cottage and the new image of Mycroft ripping heads off of opponents in battle. To be fair, Greg would probably find it arousing, but he just felt a bit sick.

“H… heads?”

“You were in the military. Is that not a standard combat tactic here?”

“No. It’s almost impossible!”

Sherlock let his claws extend fully and John was not surprised his level of sick didn’t abate in the slightest.

“I don’t know why this is surprising me. The head thing, that is, not you standing there. THAT is surprising the FUCK out of me. How? How are you here?”

Sherlock walked forward and straight through John who very nearly dropped his beverages but years of handling beer while very, very drunk gave him amazing skills for managing while not entirely rational.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

“John! You are disturbing Gregory!”

Now, Mycroft was stalking back into the sitting room with an even more malevolent glare and what rose out of John’s throat was certainly not a gleeful cackle.

“Mycroft! You are distressing John!”

Trying to go chest to chest with his brother wasn’t a smart idea as Mycroft marched straight through Sherlock to continue advancing on the good doctor who was looking for an exit when Mycroft darted the last few steps to snatch away the Cokes then hiss angrily at him before turning away and returning to the bedroom.

“Ok… that was terrifying.”

“You are easily intimidated.”

“Claws!”

“That… yes, I suppose you have a point. Especially since Mycroft has proved his willingness to use them. He is also highly practiced in the use of his teeth in battle situations, so you should likely avoid those, as well.”

This pit of hell had no bottom.

“That’s… your brother is a properly frightening man.”

“Not really but, in fairness, you have never seen him trying to shove an entire plate of baked goods into his mouth before the Cook returned to the kitchen as I did a thousand times in our youth.”

John couldn’t help the giggle that rose up in his throat because the image that rose up in his mind completely erased the former one of bloody warlord Mycroft and replaced it with something far more… human.

“Nice to know His Majesty loves his baked treats as much as the next person. But, seriously, Sherlock… what’s going on?”

In case the Visitor wasn’t sure of his meaning, John made certain to wave his hand up and down to indicate the tall, red individual standing in the sitting room. Wearing a rather fetching shade of purple.

“My range of vision was unacceptably limited with our former communication method, so we devised another to enhance my interaction with my brother while we work towards returning him home.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Well done, you. Is that the reason Greg wants an electronics shop delivered here as soon as possible? To replace what appears to have been sacrificed to bring us this version of you?”

At first glance John could identify the remains of most of the communication technology the cottage had contained and marveled at what could be accomplished with the proper knowledge. He had to admit, though, that sort of knowledge in human hands too often went to fairly horrible ends, so keeping all of this close to vest was looking more and more like a good idea.

“Yes, though I fail to understand why. I bore witness to what this world claims for entertainment and it was appalling. Further, the human has little reason to communicate with anyone as it distracts from his work and, in any case, should be reducing his presence in the lives of others so his death will have a lesser impact on them.”

John whoofed out a stunned breath and rolled his eyes at the puzzled look Sherlock was giving him because of it.

“That’s an evil thing to say, you know.”

“Is it? Why?”

“Because Greg’s life has value beyond his work and that value is recognized by his friends, who are benefitted by having the chance to talk to him, even with the short time he has left. Yes, you could argue that his death might hurt them less if he’d moved farther out of their daily notice, but you don’t do that with someone you care about. At least, we don’t.”

“Sentiment.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“For some, perhaps. In any case, it is irrelevant since you will bring new communication devices and the human can do as he pleases with them.”

“Can you use his name? Are you worried your tongue will fall out of your mouth if you do?”

“No, but I would rather not burden my memory with a useless fact when I need all available space for important information.”

“Evil. You’re made of evil. Loads of it.”

“I wear it well, though.”

John snorted at the words, but credited the tiny flash in Sherlock’s eyes that somehow imparted the tiniest of apologies for, if nothing else, upsetting John. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“I’ve never met someone proud of handsomely wearing evil, but you are a unique individual, Sherlock, so it stands to reason. What do you think…”

“John! Gregory needs you.”

There was zero urgency in Mycroft’s voice, so John rather suspected what Greg needed was what remained in his hand of his party favors.

“He can’t have any beer.”

“Gregory has instructed me to sever your carotid artery and feast on your blood if that was your response.”

Sighing loudly, John dragged his feet into the bedroom and fixed Greg with an impressive scowl.

“This isn’t even good beer and you’d let him murder me over it?”

“Yep! Gimme!”

“One. You get one, you horrid patient. Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Enough that a beer won’t make me ill but should give me enough of a buzz to enjoy.”

“You’d best hope so because no seconds for you. I’ll have the other five.”

“Wrong.”

“I counter with right and since it’s my vote that counts, I win!”

Mycroft quickly snatched the beer out of John’s grasp, smiling smugly at both his and Sherlock’s attempts to get them back, each failing for entirely different reasons.

“You are a foul villain, Mycroft!”

“Arsehole!”

“I may deign to return these to you provided you first examine Gregory’s wounds for any problems related to his extremely misguided stroll about the cottage today.”

Now it was Greg bestowing the title of arsehole on Mycroft, who waved off the indignation and contented himself with the even darker scowl John was now giving his patient.

“Really, Greg? Like you don’t have enough problems already?”

“I toddled to the loo! That was it. And I didn’t even get that far since I ran face first into Sherlock there and Mycroft put a quick end to my toddling after I said my hello’s.”

“At least the beer thief is looking after you since you’re doing a shit job of it yourself.”

Mycroft handed a beer to John, who brightened noticeably, much to Greg’s irritation. Using positive reinforcement to gain an ally. Truly fiendish but the man _was_ a master manipulator, so the overall surprise level was ridiculously low.

“Fine, you can have a look while Captain Science and his assistant work on their crystal radio.”

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a glance that stated clearly which of that nonsensical pair they represented and that the other pretending to it was nothing short of pretentious and woefully incorrect. Sherlock, however, wanted to place his stamp firmly on his choice and leave no room for debate.

“We do not have time to manufacture crystals of the purity and lattice structure for reliable wave modulation, human. A child knows that much.”

“Then find a child and get to work. John’s got my flesh to fondle and I’ve got beer to drink.”

Making shooing motions with his hands, Greg grinned back at the twin snarls which preceded Sherlock and Mycroft leaving the bedroom, with Mycroft, Greg noticed, retaining possession of the beer.

“He can drink all of that and not feel a thing, John. Isn’t that tragic?”

“Very. Greg, though… Sherlock’s here.”

“Sort of.”

“Yeah, but… that’s bizarre.”

Greg shrugged a “I suppose so’ noncommittal shrug but kept close watch on John, who made quick work of getting Greg unbandaged so he could survey the terrain and, ultimately, deemed it unchanged since the last time he’d taken a peek. The doctor seemed to be thinking the entire time, though, and not on matters of health.

“Something on your mind, John?”

“No… not really.”

“Meaning yes, so start talking.”

“It really _is_ nothing. I’m simply wondering what it’s like on Sherlock and Mycroft’s world.”

“Beautiful, from what I gather. A bit savage, though. At least in some ways. Some areas highly developed, others not so much.”

“Like here, then.”

“Yeah, though the beaches sound a great deal nicer. I’m hoping for a look at it, myself.”

“How?”

“Well, Sherlock thinks it may be possible that what he’s doing to visit here might be reversible. I don’t know how much time they’re willing to devote to making that happen, given the other, more pressing concerns, but I do know he said he’d try.”

“Really? Do you think…”

“Yes, on occasion. Right now, for instance, I’m thinking that if you ask Sherlock for your own little peek, he’ll make even more effort towards seeing it done. It’s a once in a lifetime chance, John. Don’t feel too bad about applying a little pressure.”

“How about a lot of pressure?”

“Even better! We could be the only humans ever to have seen their world. Without falling through a portal, that is. Mycroft said he won’t leave the communication link her after he’s gone for fear of it falling into the wrong hands, but maybe you can convince Sherlock to hold something open so you and he can at least chat.”

John smiled a moment, then let it fade.

“If Mycroft is putting his foot down, I doubt Sherlock will be allowed.”

“I think Sherlock’s rather skilled at getting around his brother’s edicts, so… it’s something to consider, John.”

And considering it John was. Keep a small line of communication open, maybe even take a stroll about the way Sherlock was doing now, but on Sherlock’s own world? It was worth asking, at the very least. Mycroft would probably be livid if he found out, but the worst he could do was sever the link which… it wouldn’t be lethal, but it definitely would be sad. As loony as he was, Sherlock was someone who… there weren’t a lot of people he connected with but Sherlock _was_ one of them and if that connection could continue awhile longer than expected, he’d be glad for it. Very glad, actually.

“I will. Oh, I got your bloodwork back. No appreciable change, which is good.”

“Hurray for me!”

“Just don’t push things, alright?”

“I won’t. I’m feeling good, all things considered, and don’t actually want to impact that.”

“You’ll feel the impact once you’re moving off the pain meds, but let me know immediately if there’s something particularly dreadful.”

“I will. Now… beer?”

“One. If I can pry them out of Mycroft’s hands.”

“Have Sherlock distract him. Or just tell Mycroft I can have one and he may bring it himself.”

Leaving you and Sherlock with time alone to chat.

“That’s an idea. Give me a moment.”

Greg smiled and patted his fresh bandages in satisfaction. In less than a minute, Mycroft was striding in, throwing a look over his shoulder as if he was uncertain he should leave the other two unsupervised.

“They’ll be fine, dad.”

“You are not my son.”

“No, but Sherlock acts like your bratty son, so stop worrying about him and his new friend.”

“I am _not_ worried.”

Said in a tone Greg would best describe as worried.

“Concerned about them actually becoming friends?”

“I… yes, to some extent.”

Mycroft handed Greg his beer, with straw, and had a seat next to the bed.

“It is a difficult situation and offers the potential for Sherlock to…”

“Be hurt?”

“Again, to some extent. He so rarely reaches out a hand in friendship that it seems almost ill-advised to encourage him to do so now when it cannot remain extended, no matter his desire to do so.”

Greg decided against mentioning the idea of keeping a conversation path open for Sherlock and John, preferring to let matters gather a bit more steam to make the convincing a touch easier later on. Maybe.

“I wager he knows that and, ultimately, it’s up to him what he wants to do about it.”

“Sherlock is not renown for making thoughtful, carefully-considered decisions.”

“Then he makes a crap one and learns from it. That’s how they grow up, Mycroft.”

“My brother is not a child.”

“Want to give that a little more thought?”

Mycroft scowled, but it quickly morphed into a smile that did its level best to conceal the fondness it contained.

“Very well, you may have a minuscule point.”

“On top of my head and it’s balls for getting a hat to fit properly. Seriously, though, let them make their own decisions but offer honest advice if Sherlock asks.”

“Which he will not.’

“Again, his decision. Just like my decision to enjoy this lovely beer AND a second. And cheese.”

“You may have this beer, no others, and a small morsel of cheese. Not Stilton.”

“Another smelly cheese will do.”

“The pungence of your subsequent flatulence disallows that selection.”

“Then don’t stay here to experience it.”

Mycroft's fond smile became something entirely different, though the fondness still danced in the background.

“Oh no… I know that look. You can’t ravish me. I’m held together with plasters and a few lengths of string!”

“Ravishing is slightly an exaggeration of my intentions. Consider it a gentle despoiling.”

Plasters and string was more than enough, in Greg's opinion, to weather that. Even if they weren't, who the fuck cared. Let the despoiling commence!

“I like that. Both the gentle and the despoiling parts.”

“Then we are agreed.”

“I will _always_ agree to a nice despoiling.”

“And I shall always agree to offer one.”


	28. Chapter 28

“They’re where?”

__________

“Can you be quiet? Ever?”

“If you would do as I asked, I would not need to shout. Always.”

John looked this way and that on the quiet village street and simply hoped that anyone who heard Sherlock’s continuous complaints simply thought it was him rudely having a loud call on speaker. Or talking to himself. In two distinct voices. He could claim schizophrenia. They’d believe it, most likely. He was a doctor, after all, and was qualified to diagnose these sorts of things.

“I am doing as you ask, it’s just what you want changes moment to moment, so it’s always a new ask I’m having to do. You’re only supposed to be observing and you can easily do that without yelling about everything you see.”

At least Sherlock had hijacked the rear-facing camera for viewing so John didn’t have to hold the mobile reversed and add a layer to the situation that multiple personalities couldn’t easily explain away. The great red git’s face still loomed on the screen, but that was explainable as watching a video or chatting with a friend doing cosplay. That they were doing this, at all, in the middle of the day was beyond stupid. Probably prosecutable as espionage, not that they were gathering intelligence, per se, because there wasn’t much in the way of government or corporate secrets to be found in a quaint seaside village, but some zealous government drone might decide that Sherlock viewing and recording that quaint seaside spot amounted to something or another to build a career on.

“Hold your device higher.”

“It’ll look ridiculous.”

“Why is that relevant?”

“Because I’d rather not attract notice when it could see me tossed in the brig.”

“Then sit and pretend to… do something that would normally involve your device.”

That wasn’t the worst idea. Wasn’t the best, but many of Sherlock’s ideas, just from the last half hour, had been leagues worse than this one.

“Fine, there’s a few benches over there and I can pretend to… take pictures of things.”

“That will do.”

John hoped his glare sufficed for the rude gesture he _wanted_ to make, but dutifully sat for a moment, pretending to turn the phone this way and that to take a few snaps.

“Continue on.”

“I’m not your servant, Sherlock.”

“No, you are my transport.”

“How is that any better?”

“I did not imply it was. I want to view as much as possible of this location. Is it typical of what your people normally design?”

“Uhh… no. Yes.”

“Are you brain damaged?”

“It’s typical for this sort of thing, yes. However, across the globe, even across England you’ll see much larger towns and cities. And go to tropical coasts and it looks very different than here.”

“Much as with us, then. I see. I will need to view a variety of these, so make arrangements as soon as possible.”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

“First, I have a job. Second, it takes both time and money to travel, neither of which I have in abundance. I can show you on the computer, though.”

“That is not the best data.”

“It’s what I can make happen. If… if we have more time maybe, maybe, one day we could go a bit further afield to see something different. London’s not a quick trip, but it can be done and you’d probably enjoy that.”

“Perhaps. Would London be a valuable source of data?”

“Probably. More than here, at least. Different sorts of people, architecture, shops...”

“Then we will go to this London. Arrange it.”

John hated that his brain leapt to remembering when he had time free and what was the bus/train options for getting to and from the city. It leapt with gusto, too.

“Let me see what I can do. Now, do you still want a browse through the hobby shop?”

“Yes, you indicated they might have tools and supplies beneficial to my work.”

“Ok, but you will need to be quiet in there. If you need to tell me something… cough and I’ll put the phone to my ear.”

“Very well, but I am astonished your technology has not developed $kkydf*znl;pp)cttu~#vb.”

“What?”

“Things… you place over or in your ears to receive transmitted sounds.”

“Headphones! Or the various variations. We do have those and thank you very much for reminding me after I’ve been walking around looking like a berk who is convinced everybody in the vicinity is delighted to hear each and every detail of his conversation.”

John patted his pockets, then wondered why, since he certainly didn’t pack anything as useful as earphones in those pockets, though he seemed to have an abundance of loose buttons and paperclips that he couldn’t explain for the life of him. And one small rock. However, a quick dart into the local market gained him a cheap plug-in pair that worked well enough for listening to someone for whom shouting was a preferred method of communication.

“Ok, you can talk all you want now and not worry about being overheard.”

“Good. I was tiring of the excessive caution.”

“It’s not excessive and you know it. Now, before you start yelling directly in my ear, don’t expect to find much here. I suspect the level of supplies you want aren’t the sort the average hobbyist might need for their projects. Your best hope is still to have Greg ask the tech lads at the base or his friend in London who has connections for that sort of thing.”

“All of that takes time and I want to try several things today.”

“Well, then, fingers crossed.”

John strolled into the small hobby shop, nodded at the man behind the till, and began browsing the goods, holding his mobile casually, but with awareness as to where the camera was pointing, taking direction from Sherlock on repositioning or manipulating various items so he gained the perspective he wanted to evaluate their use. To John’s surprise and, after a few polite questions about any further stock that might be kept away from children’s hands, he walked out with a sack of tools and supplies and an order placed for various electronics components that, yes, he could get from the military base, but he was starting to feel that the more they spread out their sources of materials, the safer it was for everyone involved.

“Well… that was surprisingly productive.”

“Nothing is precisely what I need, but I believe will suffice well enough, at least for testing certain theories and techniques.”

“Whatever works. Alright, then, back to the cottage and…”

“No.”

“No? Why not? We have the things you wanted, as much as we can, that is and…”

“There is much I still wish to observe.”

Oh good. Sherlock wanted to play tourist.

“Sherlock, the less we expose you to our world, the less chance of being discovered.”

“The more data I can gather about your world and it’s workings, the more successfully I can design a temporary portal.”

“Whereas I suspect that’s true, I also suspect you’re just curious and want a bit of a walkabout.”

“I am not responsible for your delusions.”

“Lovely. But… I suppose there’s no harm continuing our stroll. Greg’s likely awake by now, but Mycroft’s proven he can manage well enough on his own, even when Greg’s not able to do much to help either of them.”

“Humans are stupidly fragile creatures.”

“And your lot is hardier?”

“Much.”

“If I ask that you actually share medical information with me about your people, you’ll refuse, won’t you?”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

That was progress!

“If you could, Sherlock, that could be tremendously helpful for those of your people who come here.”

“And how would you deliver this information? I have little doubt you would be converged upon by every quarter of your military to torture from you the source of your knowledge.”

That was actually a real concern.

“Ummmmm….”

“The prudent strategy is to generate temporary portals. In that case, it would be possible to offer our people a way to return should the fall through a naturally-created one.”

“How would that work?”

“I have no idea at this point. Perhaps… a schedule of openings so that someone taken by a portal could hide and wait for a planned opening to return home.”

“That’s… that might work. Sometimes. Some portals open in fairly populated areas, though, and the military is scrambled fast to get the Visitor into custody and away from large groups of people.”

“We now have that knowledge, however, so it would be a matter of disseminating it to our people. If they choose to be stupid about things and remain in plain view, then that is their problem.”

At least Sherlock was as contemptuous of his own species as he was humans.

“It’s something, I suppose. The first step is just getting a single one working. I do hope you can, Sherlock. Though… how confident _are_ you that you can get your brother home?”

“Supremely.”

“Which means what in reality.”

“At least 50%.”

“That’s better than nothing.”

“By 50%”

“Captain Maths! In any case, if you learn to do this, could that translate to… can you… is there any way to close the portals? Keep them from opening again? At all.”

“That… that is a secondary problem. The first is returning Mycroft for his presence, though odious, is necessary for the orderly machinations of… well, quite a bit, actually. Then my attention can return to other matters. The work here, however, would be a major step to, perhaps, accomplishing a broader understanding and control of the portals, whether created by me or by whatever means they are currently being generated.”

“Makes sense.”

John continued walking, mindful to keep the mobile’s camera pointing so it could take in the various buildings and people around them, and reflected on what Sherlock just said about needing his brother back. He’d gotten the story of just who was the man being housed in the cottage with Greg and it was still a little jarring to know he was in the presence not only of a Visitor, but the king of that particular people. But, it did explain a lot about how Mycroft behaved, in general. Sherlock, though…

“Can I ask, Sherlock… what do you generally do in a day? Mycroft mentioned you have duties and you’ve never precisely said what they are.”

“Because they are inconsequential. And boring.”

“Meaning you stand about all day doing nothing.”

“I only stand when necessary.”

John had a comment to make about that then he saw a tiny flash in Sherlock’s ebony eyes, even on the small mobile screen, that made him hold back.

“More of a sitting chap, then?”

“If there is not suitable surface on which simply to lay. The less I task my body to function, the more energy and resources are available for my brain.”

“That’s utter rubbish, you know.”

“You are a mere doctor. What do you know about resource allocation in a living form?”

That was definitely an eye twinkle!

“Not very much, that’s true. It just sounded so utterly rubbish though, that I had to take the chance.”

“Bold strikes often fail to hit home, unfortunately. In any case, on the rare occasion I must rise from my energy-conserving pose, I tend to my own interests. Mycroft wisely stopped attempting to yoke me with any official duties beyond visiting Mummy and attending select official functions and ceremonies.”

“That’s good. Pity he has to trudge through them, but there’s a price to pay for being in his position, I suppose. Does he… have anyone else to help him with that?”

“Such as Mummy?”

“No, such as a wife. Or husband. Or both. I have no idea what’s customary for your people. It’s clear he has feelings for Greg, but things happen in unusual circumstances and… well, it wouldn’t be nearly the first time someone had a spouse but grew attached to someone else due to the… extremeness of the situation.”

“Fatcroft is particularly unencumbered by those hoping for a romantic entanglement.”

“That means no?”

“It does. Hence my fascination with his attachment to his human. It is entirely unlike him, yet I cannot deny, unlike him, that his interests are romantic in nature.”

“And you? You’ve never really said much about your personal life, Sherlock.”

“Unlike my brother, my lack of romantic entanglement is entirely by choice.”

“So, you are single.”

“There is only one of me, yes.”

“Funny. I was simply curious, that’s all. I’d have thought that if Mycroft wasn’t getting use out of you any other way, he might have married you off to someone in exchange for land or money or whatnot.”

“Ah, yes… I suppose there is merit to that idea, given Mummy _has_ tried such on occasion, however, her machinations quickly turn to ash once…”

“Once your intended spouse meets you?”

“Ridiculous. I am now changing the subject. Where are your information transmission centers? I require access to them for data collection.”

“No.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Very acceptable since I don’t think there are any to be found in the vicinity, besides the military base and tha’s not a risk I’m willing to take. If you just want to look at a transmission tower, though, there are a few about for the radio broadcasts and mobile connections, but a lot of that is handled via satellite now, I think, so it may not be much use to you, regardless.”

“Satellites…”

“No, I can’t get you to see those, either, since we don’t have that sort of technology. Actually, we do, but it’s insanely expensive and not used terribly often. Certainly not for a morning of sightseeing.”

“It is enough I know they exist and… there is, I suppose, information available on your computer concerning their design and function?”

“Probably. Not for the secret ones, of course, but not all qualify as secret so you could probably find something about them. At least, general information. Not much for detail, though.”

“We shall see. What is that?”

John tried to guess what Sherlock was referring to and could only come up with…

“The cat?”

“I must inspect it.”

“It’s a cat. Though, now that I say that, I recognize that you’ve never seen a cat before. Ok, cat bothering we go.”

Because why not? If there was anybody in existence with more in common with a cat than Sherlock, John Watson had certainly never met them…

__________

“knxx^vb*zzly!pqt…”

“What?”

“Mycroft is behaving shamefully.”

John looked ahead towards the cottage and wondered how Mycroft flying could be considered shameful. Flying and… doing tricks. Almost dancing on the wing, if one had a romantic turn of mind.

“He’s showing off for Greg, isn’t he?”

“Without doubt. The human is outdoors again, probably giggling gleefully at the antics.”

John squinted hard and thought he might be able to see… oh, wonderful.

“They dragged Greg’s bed outside?”

“It is not the first time.”

“At least some attention is paid to medical recommendations. And it’s nice, really, that your brother is doing his showing off. It’s easy to fall into dark thoughts when you’re in Greg’s position and something to brighten the spirits is a welcome thing.”

“I am recording this. It will be excellent blackmail material once Mycroft has returned.”

“You’re so kind.”

“True.

John laughed and kept the camera pointed correctly so Sherlock could gather all the blackmail material he desired.

“When will I get to see you fly, Sherlock?”

“Why would you want to see that?”

“Because I’ve only seen one of your lot fly, in the flesh, so to speak, and I’d like to see another. The records we have say there is variation in wing structure for your people. Are your wings like your brothers?”

“They are similar, though mine are slimmer, allowing greater maneuverability. And attractiveness.”

“Oh. Are wings considered a mark of beauty?”

“Of course. They all perform the same fundamental function, however, some wing shapes are considered more attractive than others. Not that I care about such things, of course, but mine are particularly exquisite. Unlike Mycroft’s.”

“Something learned. Not that you’re evil, but how beauty standards vary. Anything else specific to your people that is considered a measure of attractiveness?”

“Many things.”

“Name one.”

“Body patterning.”

“What?”

“Are your ears nonfunctional?”

“No, but… is that why you’re always insulting your brother? Because he doesn’t have any body patterning?”

“Mycroft’s patterns are exactly like him – pompous, over-formal, aesthetically cataclysmic and fat.”

“I’ve seen him, Sherlock. All of him. In the altogether! There’s not a bit of patterning on his skin.”

“Interesting.”

“What is? That you’re lying?”

“No, that the human eye cannot perceive them.”

That was a thing. And ‘interesting’ was actually accurate.

“Our eyes see only certain frequencies of light. Maybe your markings are in a color we can’t process, like ultraviolet or infrared.”

“That is a plausible hypothesis. What _do_ you see when you look at us?”

“Ummm… red. Skin, that is. Hair, eyes and wings mostly black. That’s all, really.”

“Interesting.”

“You say that a lot.”

“I say it when it is merited. An intriguing puzzle I hope I have time to explore more fully. In any case, I now wish to collect data on your oceans.”

“How?”

“Begin swimming.”

“Nope. First, my mobile is not waterproof. Second, I don’t have dry clothes to change into afterwards.”

“You are as anti-science as Mycroft.”

“What a tragedy.”

John pointed the mobile at the ground and smiled contentedly at the stream of harsh and ear-destroying curses. It was a shame, it really was, that Sherlock couldn’t pay more of a visit to this world. Despite everything, it had been a good morning. A fun morning. Not something he had many of, to be truthful. A simple morning where he could genuinely laugh and enjoy himself doing nothing purposeful. Yes, there _was_ a purpose to the day’s activities, but it hadn’t felt much like it after awhile. It felt… nice. A relaxing morning out with a… friend? That was as good a word as any, he supposed. An apparently-not-entirely-red, ridiculous, loud friend. Who was also an intelligent, funny, interesting friend. Just his luck… he finally meets someone who he connects with and that person is a universe away. Typical for…

“Sherlock?”

John quickly tilted the phone back up to where Sherlock could see his brother, who was hovering in the air, then dove at a speed and level of precision that shocked even the man watching through a small mobile screen.

“Something is wrong with the human.”

Because where Mycroft dove was to Greg’s beside and as John raced at top speed towards the scene, berating himself for wanting a nice long walk rather than a short trip by car to the village, he grew more and more concerned since he could finally see the look on Mycroft’s face.

Which was fear.

“Mycroft!”

“John! Gregory is distressed!”

“No, I’m not!”

John made it to Greg’s bed and quickly took note of the flushed complexion and trembling that was ongoing despite Greg’s words.

“Cough, Greg. Go ahead.”

Mycroft snarled at John, but it faded as Greg scowled sharply but complied, letting the coughing he was struggling to hold back run its course while John simply braced his shoulders lightly so he couldn’t double over and interfere with his injuries.

“He was choking.”

“A… just a bit. H… hold on.”

Greg kept coughing and John listened closely, not entirely happy at the sound.

“Something go down the wrong way, Greg?”

“Little… just a little spit.”

“He is lying.”

“Not now, Mycroft. Take your time, Greg. Here… Mycroft help me sit him up just a little.”

Mycroft growled dangerously, but obeyed without hesitation, carefully supporting Greg a little off the bed so he could continue to cough with the slightly wet sound that his own hearing had detected while he was in midflight.

“His lungs are sick.”

“It’s spit!”

“I’ll give him an exam in a minute, Mycroft but… see how deeply you can breathe, Greg. See if you can get a few good lungs of air in you.”

Which might also help quiet the cough reflex because this really isn’t the best for… well, for everything concerning you at the moment.

It took another minute or two for Greg to be able to breathe consistently without a periodic interruption by a harsh cough, but he finally settled down and John gave Mycroft the nod to lay him back in his bed.

“How’s the pain, Greg?”

Greg shot John a look easily interpretable as ‘not while Mycroft’s here’ but John waved it off and continued to glare until his patient responded.

“Not lethal.”

“Meaning you need a little something because your meds have been wearing off and you’re now…”

John was going to say ‘in agony,’ but the Mycroft situation was _not_ one to discount.

“… feeling the pain a touch more than is comfortable. Mycroft can you dart to the car I stupidly left here instead of taking with me and bring my medical bag.”

Happy that Mycroft didn’t use top speed as he stalked off, John squatted and murmured too softly, he hoped, for Mycroft to hear.

“How bad, Greg?”

“Bad.”

“After I give you something, I’ll have a listen to your lungs. It’s entirely possible you’ve built up some fluid in them from being bedbound as much as you have recently and… a host of other things.”

“Does that mean…”

“It’s cancer related? Not necessarily. I’m not thinking along those lines at all, actually, but it’s also not something I’ll disregard. Don’t worry, I’ll check everything and see you’re comfortable in the meantime.”

“Mycroft will not be happy that his human is potentially dying in agony.”

Oh yes, forgot about Sherlock.

“Notice the words ‘dying’ and ‘agony’ were nowhere in our conversation, Sherlock. Now… be decent and consider this a private conversation between Greg and me that you don’t share with your brother.”

John didn’t bother to look at the mobile but he somehow felt Sherlock’s black eyes narrowing in scrutiny as the Visitor contemplated the situation. However, since that wasn’t followed by a half-expected protest, John simply continued to give Greg’s face a soothing wipe with a corner of the bedsheet that he’d wet with water from a glass on the table Mycroft had also brought out with the bed.

“Here. Fix him.”

Mycroft shoved the bag into John’s hands and alternated his glare between doctor and patient as if he could speed along both John’s treatment and Greg’s healing with the power of his will.

“I’ll do my best, but I can tell you now, he’s going to be fine with a little extra pain medication and some rest. It’s a nice day, though, not too cold, so if that rest happens out here, I’m not going to object, but only another hour or so of it, alright?”

“Gregory is happier when he is not confined to his bedroom.”

John nodded and took the quiet moment to listen to Greg’s chest with his stethoscope.

“Understandable. And that goes along with my next recommendation which I normally wouldn’t make at this point for someone in his condition. Start getting him on his feet and doing a bit of walking. Supported walking and not a tremendous amount, but enough to keep some motion going during the day. A wet cough can mean a number of things, but I don’t want to see any of the possibilities progress into something more serious. I’ll leave a few things to help with prevent that but getting him out of bed a few times a day for a brief walk will be beneficial. And keep him showering. Good and hot with lots of steam. Do you have enough covers for his bandages?”

“That repugnant film?”

“It’s what I had that would work for that much coverage. If you’re unwilling to do that, though… shit!”

John leaped off the bed where he’d perched for his brief exam and narrow avoided being choked by a thankfully claw-lacking hand.

“ _Never_ imply I would shirk my responsibilities.”

“Stop doing that! It’s… well, it’s fucking terrifying and completely inappropriate besides. Greg… have a talk with him, will you? I’m not much good to you if I’m dead and my body’s tossed in the sea.”

“Mycroft… stop trying to murder John.”

“That’s it? That’s all the defense I get?”

“I’m tired.”

John clucked his tongue, but gave Mycroft a pointed look that earned him a nasty scowl but, also, a grudging nod.

“I, however, am not! Mycroft, if you do anything to harm John, I will make your life an enduring misery!”

This time it was a smothered grin shared by Mycroft and John because that was not as much of a threat as Sherlock may have hoped given… well, given Sherlock was Sherlock and enduring his misery was somewhat a guarantee either way.

“Of course, brother. I shall take your warning to heart.”

“You had better or Mummy will learn what happened to her bridal crown.”

That immediately wiped the smile of Mycroft’s face and John made it a goal of his lifetime to hear this story because it had to be worthwhile.

“As you say. Gregory… are you… more well?”

“Yeah. Like I said, just a bit of spit.”

“Your lies are pitifully easy to discern, however, I shall not chastise you for this one at present for I would prefer you save your energy for healing.”

“Very kind of you.”

John took a few more moments to check over Greg then rummaged in his bag for the extra medication Greg needed before giving his patient a small pat on the arm and nodding at Mycroft to follow him to his car.

“Honestly, Mycroft, I’m concerned but not worried at this point. His temperature is slightly elevated, so something’s upsetting his system but the antibiotics I left should add extra kick to beating it back. I meant what I said though about keeping him moving, even if only a little. The last thing we need is him getting bronchitis or pneumonia.”

“This is not his disease?”

“Uhh… I doubt it, but I can’t rule it out 100%. His most recent bloodwork didn’t show anything beyond what I’d expect, but no patient behaves perfectly to spec when they’re at this stage. Always some little variation to keep their doctor on their toes. It’s not my first thought, though. Or my second or third. People get sick, especially when they’re already stressed and their body is overtaxed from other things. Just keep an eye on him, see he takes his meds, gets rest and an occasional putter about the cottage.”

“I will do that. And your work today?”

“John was an exemplary guide!”

“Ah, you are still with us, brother.”

“Yes. And feeling greatly ignored.”

“Doctor Watson, do keep my brother company a short while longer so he does not wither away from neglect.”

“I may be able to manage that. Sherlock, prepare for some extremely interesting visits with our local sheep population. They may like you as much as that cat!”

Sherlock’s long stream of discordant syllables was met with a long stream of Mycroft’s both of which ended only when John got into his car, closed the door and drove away. As Mycroft ruminated on his brother’s final words he gazed back at the bed on the cottage lawn and felt his heart clench. Sherlock’s jaunt with John had been for more than simple tools and basic data collection. It had been to help document the profile of the electromagnetic fields of this specific region and… they were in line with what Sherlock had postulated would facilitate the creation of a portal. It was a factor his brother suspected caused their original effort to remain open only long enough to expel him into this accursed world. It seemed a certain confluence of parameters might be required for a stable portal to form and Sherlock had, now, some ideas about how to configure his equipment to open a portal at a location of his choosing. Which meant he would not be leaving for home tomorrow, but… soon. His instincts were in agreement that his time here on Earth was quickly coming to an end. A few weeks, little more. Likely less.

Which meant…

Mycroft continued to gaze at Greg’s bed, content to see that the human was quiet and the terrifying heaving of his coughs had ceased. It would hurt to lose him, this frail man who had become someone unique in his life, but there was no way to avoid the situation. Sherlock’s portal, though functional, had assaulted his body and senses as he traveled through and the likelihood Gregory would survive such a experience was low. Low as to near naught. If the situation was different he might consider taking the human back with him to live out his remaining days, but the option was not a viable one and Gregory deserved to have as many days for his life as he could possible gain. He cherished those days, valued each and the small events and tidings they brought. That those days would not be shared with a certain king was something said king mourned terribly…


	29. Chapter 29

“Waaaaaaahhhhhh!”

“Why are you making that noise?”

“I’m crying.”

“No, you are not.”

“I’m pretending to cry. Like a toddler.”

“Ah, a witticism. Or, more accurately, an attempt at one.”

Greg’s rude noise was far more interpretable and Mycroft merely bared his teeth and continued to provide support as Greg slowly walked from the bedroom to the kitchen space.

“John said you must move periodically to avoid health complications.”

“Yeah, but… not at fuck o’clock in the morning!”

“That… is not a time measurement in standard use, correct?”

“Depends on who you talk to. Sad fuckers who are dragged out of their beds at that particular time use it a lot.”

“Very well. However, I fail to see how it applies here. The sun has risen and you were awake when I removed you from the bed.”

“Yes, I was awake, but I was… luxuriating.”

“What?”

“Luxuriating! When you stay in bed because you’re perfectly comfortable at the perfect temperature and your brain is happy to key up a semi-conscious dream for you to view like a film behind your eyes and it’s just… perfect.”

“Humans are ridiculous creatures.”

“True. But I’m still right about luxuriating. We could have done this later.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have other matters to attend to and you require motion. Therefore you are moving now so as to allow me uninterrupted time after to tend to my tasks.”

“What tasks?”

“Technical tasks.”

“Laundry?”

“No.”

“Tidying?”

“No.”

“Cooking?”

“No.”

“Those are the only tasks we actually have.”

“Incorrect, but they are not something you need be concerned with, therefore, the end result is the same.”

“That sounds sneaky.”

“Kings do not sneak.”

“Yeah, they do. Rather a lot, really.”

“I… yes, I admit the point. Now, while you are vertical, do you require elimination?”

“I’m not eager to die at the moment, no, why do you ask?”

“You do enjoy your little turns at humor, Gregory. Elimination, as in eliminating bodily wastes.”

“Ew.”

“Why are you now upset?”

“Because you said wastes. With bodily. It conjures ew-y images in my mind.”

“If I was not fully aware of your status as an adult of your species, I would now be convinced that you represent a juvenile variation of the form.”

“I’d like to argue, but I can’t. It’s fair. I’m a juvenile form with some degree of regularity. Can I have breakfast, though, before attending to anything ew-y?”

“You may have toast.”

“How about toast and eggs?”

“No.”

“Toast and bacon?”

“No.”

“Beans and toast?”

“No.”

“We only have and bread and potatoes in this house, don’t we.”

“Yes.”

“I ordered supplies!”

“I ate them.”

“How? How on Earth… you know, I’m actually not surprised. Not that you could and not that you did. Nor that you didn’t just hop onto the computer and place an order to replenish what we have.”

“I did.”

“What? You?”

“We only have bread and potatoes. _Perhaps_ enough cheese for your lunch. No meat. Or popcorn. I was not content allowing this to stand.”

“Oh… thank you! Wait… before you get my thanks, did you order enough for two people?”

“No.”

“WHAT!”

“I ordered enough for four humans.”

“That’s fine, then. It’s nearly what I usually do myself.”

“I simply found a previous order and copied it.”

“Smart.”

“And added more jam and Cokes.”

“No complaints from me. So, toast! And coffee?”

“We have coffee.”

“Heaven!”

Mycroft had kept Greg walking during their ridiculous conversation and had kept his ears firmly attuned to his human’s breathing. There was a detectable difference, and for the better, since yesterday’s incident and, though the swallowing a bit of spit argument was idiotic, his own worries also seemed unfounded. At least, provided he continued remaining vigilant and providing Gregory opportunities for motion.

“Let’s have a stroll by the water, what say?”

Not that much motion.

“No.”

“You’re not very talkative this morning?”

“It is fuck o’clock. What more would you expect?”

“There’s that sense of humor you’re famous for! It’s not just me who’s a comedian extraordinaire. Outside now?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on! I just want a slow toddle with sand between my toes.”

“The chill is not conducive to your healing.”

“We have warm clothes. Loads of them.”

“You cannot experience sand between your toes unless said toes are bare.”

“And we’re back to Professor Logic. Boo!”

Greg began his much-practiced toddler-tantrum dance, but the first raising of a leg for the initiating foot stamp reminded him why raising his leg was a stupid, stupid idea.

“Gregory, your intense grimace informs me that you are well aware of the stupidity of your actions.”

“Great minds think alike. Yeah, that was dumb. Even with John’s pills, that was dumb. I keep forgetting about things…”

Mycroft scowled darkly and led Greg back to bed, detouring momentarily for the previously-debated elimination event, then tucked the former DI snugly under the blankets with enough pillow prop to successfully manage the toast and coffee that would be arriving shortly.

“Now, you will rest while I prepare your breakfast.”

“I’m tired of resting.”

“Then how fortunate you are to be in a bed to support your fatigue.”

“Oh… pooh.”

“You stated that was not a required action scarcely five minutes ago.”

“Toast. Coffee. Now!”

Greg pointed to the bedroom door while he pouted thunderously and held the pout while Mycroft growled and bared his teeth with a ferocious snarl. However, since snarling wasn’t gaining him any toast and jam, Mycroft decided to show pity on his opponent and be the first to step away from the battle and begin on the path to a more productive use of his time.

“Finally.”

Mycroft stopped outside the bedroom door and closed it gently behind him.

“Sherlock… you have as little respect for this dwelling as you do my own set of rooms at home.”

“Untrue. I would never hesitate to walk into your bedroom, however, I waited here rather than set foot in the human’s squalid space. Out of respect.”

“I will translate that to you wanted to avoid questions about your time yesterday with John and, further, have matters to discuss that you feel are inappropriate for Gregory’s ears.”

“I am not responsible for your interpretation of my words. 

“Of course. Well, we may converse while I prepare toast and coffee.”

“Are they palatable?”

“The toast is most palatable. The coffee tastes much like a cup of vdxx&klq$rggp_ci*rmt.”

“Oh ftz7nk%jjw… I may vomit.”

“As I nearly did when I had a sip. However, Gregory is rather enamored of it. It has the positive attributes that it is hot, which is soothing given this planet’s wretched cold, and it contains a stimulant which humans seem to require aplenty to function after a night’s sleep.”

“They are a weak species.”

“For some things. However, we also have our small failings.”

“Not me.”

“True. Your failings are somewhat enormous.”

“Amusing. Almost as amusing as you sullying your hands with food preparation. However, I suppose love makes one do mystifying things, even if one is a king.”

Mycroft simply rolled his eyes and refused to be further baited by Sherlock’s pestiferousness.

“Are you here for specific reason, brother?”

“I require more data. When will John arrive?”

Subtlety was not a word Sherlock comprehended in any language.

“I have no idea if he intends to visit today. He has other duties, as you are aware.”

“None as vital as this.”

“Given your demands do not fund his existence, I suspect his opinion would differ on the subject.”

“Pfft. I will throw a sack of jewels through the portal when I open it to compensate him for his assistance, if his avarice requires it.”

“Avarice is not a concept I feel either should be mentioned within John’s ability to hear or is appropriate for the situation. John is not a wealthy man. The loss of his job would be keenly felt, so kindly do not put him in a position where that is a possibility.”

“Very well. If I must, I will make do without him. You will be my assistant.”

It was very, very rare that Sherlock heard his brother laugh. This was not an occasion where he appreciated the novelty of the experience.

“I am the only being in the universe who recognizes the vital importance of science!”

“You are the only being in the universe who recognizes the vital importance of _you_. If you have specific tasks to be performed, describe them and I will see what is possible to accommodate them, but if you desire a lackey I shall gladly go outdoors and see if your seagull friend is available to be of service.”

“That is not as nonsensical as you believe if you can attach one of our devices to him in some manner.”

“I place the likelihood of that near the level of Mummy visiting without having a portfolio of potential mates for us to browse.”

“Hmmmm… I was hopeful for an aerial view of your vicinity. The topography and geologic features could be important.”

“Then I cannot help you, for I am confined by that damnable security field.”

“I also require information on that.”

“Again, I cannot help you.”

“You are useless.”

“Not if that’s coffee I smell.”

Mycroft snarled and whirled around to glare at Greg who was leaning against the bedroom door frame and waving cheerily.

“Why are you out of bed?”

“Because there’s no coffee in bed.”

“I was bringing the coffee to you.”

“I’m also bored.”

“I was returning to provide companionship while you had your breakfast.”

“I missed you.”

“You are simply being difficult.”

“I’m too simple to be difficult.”

“Your human is defective.”

“Thanks, Sherlock! Nice to be noticed. In any case, I’ve been lying there, smelling toast and coffee, and not having a single molecule of it for my own. I will now change that. Prepare to be astonished.”

Mycroft hissed a warning, but Greg began his slug-paced shuffle across the small sitting room to stand next to his personal chef.

“That toast looks perfectly browned.”

“This is too much motion in too short a time.”

“Nope. I’m not bleeding through anything and I intend of going back to bed as soon as I get my toast and coffee. Besides, this way I can stand and look out the window at the ocean. That makes breakfast taste all the better.”

Mycroft signed grandly, but poured Greg’s coffee and put fresh bread in the toaster so Greg could enjoy a warmer portion than the pieces that were quickly being popped into Mycroft’s own mouth.

“Oh…. yeah, this is the stuff. Perfect coffee to accompany perfect toast. You’re a breakfast master, Mycroft, and don’t let anyone tell you anything different.”

Greg hummed contentedly and did as he’d intended, which was gaze out at the ocean and imprint the image into his mind. These little moments… so many he’d squandered in his life but, now, he cherished each one.

“If you two are done with your domestic theater, can we return to actual… importance?”

“Can’t hear you, lad. The glorious vista has deafened me with its gloriousness.”

“I was not speaking to you, human. You have none of the skills I require to further my work.”

“Pity. Wait… I mean, good! Being useless means I get to enjoy my breakfast, my lovely view, your brother surreptitiously trying to prop me up with his body and all sorts of other lovely things without your silly bother.”

Greg threw a quick grin to Mycroft who scowled and handed him a plate with fresh toast.

“I was merely using my wing to provide warmth.”

“And give me a bit of a boost in case I sag.”

“If that is an unintentional ancillary benefit, then you are most fortunate.” 

Sherlock studied the pair and had to admit that his brother would ever be the man he knew, but there might be more to that man than he’d realized. And that Mycroft was never allowed to show those other sides anywhere but on this hideous planet.

“When you are finished groping your servant, we need to begin our work.”

“Mycroft, did I miss the groping? Shame if I did because you’re frightfully good at it.”

“I was not speaking to you, human. However, you do raise a point. Denude yourself.”

“Uhhhh… what?”

“Denude yourself.”

“If that means what I think it means… no. If it doesn’t… still no.”

“I want to examine your tissue melding.”

“Oh! That’s sciency, I suppose. Ok, I’ll give you a peek. Not at the good stuff, though. That’s for your brother’s eyes alone.”

Sherlock made a sound that closely resembled a person choking on a snare drum while Greg set down his toast and, with a bit of help, removed his shirt.

“There we go! I’ve got a bit of red on me.”

Walking closer, Sherlock leaned in to observe the healing would and muttered softly under his breath, mentally transcribing his verbalized thoughts for future reference.

“So, what say you, Sherlock? Will I survive?”

“No, but that has little to do with this injury.”

“Fair. Crack on, then. Shame, though, you can't give it a poke or something. I do that all the time, see?”

Greg started to poke the red patch of skin then yelped loudly as Sherlock’s finger got there first and shot a sharp sting into him that raced from the skin patch directly up his spine.

“AAARRGGGHHHH!!!!! Sherlock!”

Sherlock was very lucky that his insubstantial form was… insubstantial… because the swipe of fully-extended claws through his head would have been a bit inconvenient for his continued existence otherwise. Though, he had some certainty his brother wouldn’t actually have launched a lethal attack if he wasn’t non-corporeal. _Some_ certainty…

“I will murder you, brother!”

Certainty level lessening…

“Mycroft… it’s ok. I’m ok, just… what the fuck did you do, lad?”

“Gregory is injured and you attacked him! This lack of honor, this _betrayal_ , is beneath what I can allow for a member of the royal court. Or the royal family! Consider yourself… “

Greg shut off the ferocious tirade with a fast, hard kiss that lingered for a worryingly long time as Mycroft’s fury eased, at least to the point where, Greg hoped, the king wouldn’t do something rash. Beyond trying to murder his phantom brother where he stood.

“I’m alright, love. Perfectly alright. Just got a… shock?... or something. Sherlock, how did you do that? You can’t touch anything. Or anyone.”

“I… it was an experiment.”

“WHAT!”

Greg was very happy that he wasn’t a lean man since any less body weight might have seen him pushed aside like paper as Mycroft began to lunge. However, his extra paper sheet of mass was enough to remind the king that there was someone in his path who probably wouldn’t appreciate being knocked down and stepped on as he went, again, for Sherlock’s moment of life-ending agony.

“Calm down, Mycroft. Let me handle this. YOU STUPID PRAT! You don’t experiment on people! What the fuck is wrong in your head and why haven’t you fixed it yet if you’re Prince Science the Brilliant? Huh? Tell me that!”

Greg gave Mycroft a ‘See? All sorted.’ nod which more baffled the royal brothers than settled the situation, however, it served to deescalate Mycroft’s rage to the point where let his claws fully retract and huff a frustrated breath.

“Your next words will decide your fate, brother, so choose them very, very wisely. What did you do to Gregory?”

“I… you see, I have been hoping to reconfigure my emitter array to, if not actually gain the ability to manipulate objects, at least conduct certain tests with greater efficiency.”

“I would claim you tortured Gregory most efficiently. Well done.”

“That was not my intention. It was… the opportunity presented itself to run a preliminary trial and I saw no reason to let the opportunity slip through my grasp.”

Greg shot out a hand to grab Mycroft’s arm, wincing slightly at both the pain of sudden motion and the fact that Mycroft’s tensing muscles were solid as granite.

“A whim? You risked Gregory’s life to satisfy a whim?”

“There was no risk! At least… none that would be fatal, even for someone as enfeebled as the human.”

“You know little of humans, brother, so that is not as reassuring as you seem to believe.”

“I know enough. AND I know the mindless rage a @knlc&ypsf^mhg#dgd;r experiences when they perceive a threat, so that I took action says a great deal about my level of certainty that this would not be a problematic thing.”

That Mycroft reared back in surprise rather than leaping forward startled Greg almost as much as Sherlock’s shocking poke.

“Mycroft?”

“We will speak of this later, brother. Gregory, this has been far too stressful for you. I will return you to bed and…”

“Oh no you don’t. What’s going on? And not just with me getting electrocuted by a ghostly finger.”

“Nothing that would make sense, given you are not of my people. You must trust me on this matter; it is not something of concern to you.”

Foul play, Mycroft. You know that if I push this it becomes a trust issue and… that’s not a good place for us to go, now is it…

“Fine. But what you can tell me, you will, right?”

“Of course.”

“Ok, then. Sherlock, fuck you and I hope you have ants crawl up your bum. Bring my coffee, Mycroft?”

Mycroft smirked at his indignant sibling and hoisted Greg’s cup with one hand while supporting Greg with the other. With his charge tucked back into bed with tablet and coffee in reach, Mycroft laid a soft kiss on Greg’s forehead and left the bedroom, frowning at Sherlock’s crossed arms and tapping foot of impatience.

“You are extremely fortunate that Gregory chose to spare your life.”

“I am fortunate that I am not physically present and my life was never in danger.”

“I will return at some point and the desire for revenge only deepens the longer it remains unsatisfied.”

“Perhaps for the mentally diseased. Oh wait, I forgot to whom I am speaking. In any case, your human is fine, as I knew would be the case, so your festering fury is misplaced.”

“It is not. You are reckless, brother. What you choose to do with your own life is your affair, but you do not have the right to make that choice for others.”

“As if you would have allowed me to conduct my test if I had asked beforehand.”

“Correct. Had you asked, however, I might have agreed to allow you to perform your ridiculous magic trick on me, instead.”

“You are scientifically uninteresting.”

“Your hope was to verify your idea was feasible. The subject of the study is irrelevant for that purpose.”

“Boring.”

Realizing they were at a highly familiar stage in their rather formulaic argument process, Mycroft merely shook his head and turned attention to another of the items on his list to address.

“In any case… I do not want you raising false points of discussion when speaking to Gregory.”

“Was that supposed to make any sense?”

“You claimed me @knlc&ypsf^mhg#dgd;r. That is false.”

“Your behavior says otherwise.”

“You attacked a weak, injured man! Of course I would be enraged at that cowardly act.”

“Attack? Outrageous exaggeration. More evidence of @knlc&ypsf^.”

“Ridiculous.”

“It gives me no pleasure to say it, but science does not care about pleasure.”

“Science… pfft. Not another word will I hear of this.”

“Science also does not care about your willful delusion.”

“About what, then, does science care, brother? What was so vital about your test that you chose to endanger Gregory in such a callous manner?”

“A sensor burst.”

“What?”

“What analyses I can perform have been somewhat removed from best evidence. I have been seeking to change that fact.”

“You… you were able to perform direct data collection?”

“It was a successful test. I will need to expand greatly upon my current model, however, it serves as proof the concept was sound.”

“And can you build upon this to affect changes on this world?”

“I affected a change in your human. He loudly proclaimed evidence of that.”

“This _is_ useful. The technology of this world is minimal and what further tools we can add to our cause are only for the better. Do not take that, however, as license to again use Gregory as a test subject.”

Sherlock had a reply ready but saw the flash in his brother’s eyes, in a color imperceptible to human senses, and knew well what that flesh meant for a certain someone if he acted… incautiously.

“That will be your human’s decision.”

That was marvelously cautious.

“Gregory’s well-being is paramount.”

“Fear not. I would do nothing to permanently harm your @knlc&ypsf^tndr*ncwq&gn. Stop flashing your eyes at me!“

“We will converse no more on this topic. That is my final word.”

Sherlock made a rude noise, but didn’t carry on further. Besides the foundation for circumventing the pompous potentate completely for any further data collection initiatives he may wish to initiate.

“Very well. Are you ready to continue with my research objectives?”

“In a moment. First, I must check that Gregory is well and his needs are met. Then, you may have my attention for your work.”

“Science, as always, suffers from the demands of the flesh.”

“Gregory’s flesh thanks you. And will, I am certain, thank _me_ later tonight, albeit more jubilantly.”

While Sherlock died an agonizing death, Mycroft made for the bedroom where he hoped he would find a sleeping human. Gregory was a foolish man, at times, and his poor body paid a heavy price for it. However, his human was not alone to endure the perils of his foolishness so the blows it landed on him could be softened. At least, until Sherlock could open a portal…

__________

“Will this ever end, brother?”

At least Gregory had, as expected fallen fast asleep and remained that way for the hundreds of hours Sherlock had required for his various bits of tinkering.

“I am close to having the readings I require.”

“Joyful. Gregory will need food soon and his body should not be denied the sustenance it requires. He becomes most vexatious when that occurs.”

“You are well matched.”

“Amusing. What have you learned today from your work?”

“I…”

“Yes?”

“I will need to analyze the data more fully, you understand…”

“Sherlock…”

“We still have a great deal of work to accomplish, however, our current pace, unsatisfactory though it is, should enable us to make a test of a portal at your location in no more than two of the human’s weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“I am not stating equivocally that you will be leaving at that point, because our attempt might only generate data to create a more successful attempt at a later time, but… I would be prepared in case it is successful enough for you to depart.”

“I see.”

“Will you tell him?”

“It would be dishonorable to conceal this information.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“It is the only answer I am prepared to give at this time.”

“Meaning you are unsure for you see no option that will not grieve him.”

“My meaning is my own to contemplate.”

“And you? He could be… comforting.”

“There is nothing to comfort. There is duty, my duty to my people. That, really is all.”

“Would the human agree?”

“Irrelevant. Gregory is… his time is short and he should be stressed as little as possible. All energy should be devoted towards his own health and welfare. Nothing more.”

“It is, naturally, your choice…”

“Yes.”

“Though it is a stupid one.”

“Of course. Now, if we are done for now, I will prepare Gregory’s lunch.”

“What is he having?”

“Toast.”

“That was his breakfast.”

“This toast shall have cheese.”

“Does that make it better?”

“It makes it… cheesier.”

“Does that mean better?”

“It is rather good cheese.”

“I will observe the human while he eats it. He is as incapable of hiding his reaction to food as you, so I will have better evidence than your assessment.”

“Oh good. I have no doubt Gregory will be ecstatic to be, again, the focus of your experimental mania.”

“Ah ha! You know he will reveal your culinary dishonesty.”

“Gregory will fully uphold my claim to mastery of cheese toastie!”

Sherlock looked much as if had been slapped by a seagull.

“Those words actually fell from your lips.”

And Mycroft looked like the seagull had kissed him afterwards.

“They did. I propose we never speak of it again.”

“I feel that is best.”

“Agreed. For the record, though. Cheese toasties bow to my mastery and do it gladly.”

Sherlock snorted and waved off his brother’s words which, any fool could see, were attempts to hide his thoughts. Knowing he must leave his lover was different than knowing he _would_ leave his lover and the column of ice that was their king was experiencing cracks and fractures. For which he would receive no help once he returned home for kings never show weakness. Never show pain. And, very likely, never forgive himself for leaving behind someone to die alone without loving arms to hold them one final time…


	30. Chapter 30

“Again.”

“I’m tired of breathing!”

“That is nonsensical.”

“And so is me… breathing.”

Mycroft growled with a harsh low force that Greg felt clearly in the chest he was arguing against filling with air.

“Stop that!”

“John said you needed to breathe deeply. I have observed only shallow breaths this morning and you will rectify that.”

“I’m not breathing shallowly! I’m breathing normally.”

“It is not acceptable.”

“It’s been acceptable for the duration of my life, so I doubt it’s any different now. Where’s your brother? Don’t you have something gadgety to do?”

“You are becoming agitated. I will make coffee. You seem calmer when you have coffee, though that is not predicted by human physiological response to caffeine.”

“I am not becoming agitated, but… a cup of coffee sounds wonderful.”

Mycroft wasn’t happy about being diverted from their discussion, but since he’d opened the diversion door, he had no one to blame but himself.

“Very well. But you will breathe while I am making your beverage.”

“I promise to breathe.”

“Deeply.”

“As deep as I can.”

“I will be listening. And greatly displeased if what I hear is not to my satisfaction.”

That was an actual threat. Mycroft had bat’s hearing. Ok… breathe in, breathe out. Breath in, ouch ouch ouch ouch, breath out…

Mycroft kept an ear on Greg’s breathing as he left the bedroom and shook his head at how much Greg was trying to hide the pain from deeper breathing. It was to be expected; his injuries were just beginning to heal, but he had used the remaining tablet to research the situation and there _was_ a clear threat for someone in Gregory’s condition if they did not fully exercise their lungs.

And he had to see Gregory stronger and well before… he left. There was little time remaining for the human, but that time should be enjoyed with as much health as he could manage.

“Knock knock. Mind a visitor this morning?”

Yes. But, given you are a doctor, dispensation will be granted.

“Go and supervise Gregory’s breathing while I prepare his coffee. He cannot be trusted to do it properly.”

Which, John translated, meant that Mycroft had actually paid heed to his warnings and was making Greg loony about it. Brilliant!

“I’ll happily supervise his breathing if you can spare a second cup of coffee for someone who woke far too early this morning for his liking.”

“At fuck o’clock?”

“That… yes, at precisely that hour.”

“Greg is also not fond of that particular time. Go. I will bring coffee.”

That was easy.

“Ok, that was easy. And not any real insults to be found in there. What’s going on?”

“I am making coffee.”

“Besides that?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something on your mind, Mycroft?”

“Always.”

“Anything in particular?”

“No.”

Meaning yes. But not something he wants to talk about.

“Alright, but I trust that if you had something to discuss about Greg’s health, you’d let me know immediately.”

Oh, that was a nasty snarl.

“You are a nattering insect.”

“Just so we understand each other. Not about the insect part, but the you’re hiding something and it’d best not be anything about Greg’s condition.”

“I hide nothing.”

“You hide loads, actually, but it’s none of my business unless it involves Greg.”

“Then begone.”

“Ok, as I said, just so we understand each other. And I like sugar in my coffee. Just a bit, if you don’t mind.”

That snarl… morphing into a smirk. What a shit…

“And don’t pour in half the sugar bowl just to be a bastard.”

“Waste is repugnant. And you are a highly paranoid individual. I shall inform Stamford of your defectiveness. I doubt he will be pleased.”

“Mike’s not my boss, so I doubt he’ll care.”

“Untrue. He mentioned only yesterday that he wished to be kept informed of Gregory’s progress and care. I am simply accommodating his wishes.”

Mike called. That… ok, not reading anything into that until I can ring him later.

“Yeah, that has me quaking in my shoes. Coffee for two, please, while I watch Greg breathe.”

Your bared teeth don’t scare me anymore, Mycroft. So, I’m just walking my not-scared self towards Greg’s bedroom, backwards, not because I’m not worried about showing fear, but because it’s good to spice things up in life now and again. Spicy backwards walking…

“Are you alright?”

Spicy backwards walking into Greg’s bed.

“Just checking Mycroft’s not pouring ten stone of sugar into my coffee.”

“That’s actually a more coherent answer than I expected. In any case, good morning, John. Why the hell are you invading my bedroom before I’ve even had my morning coffee?”

“Oh, I was enjoying a deep and restful sleep when my mobile decided to squawk at me.”

“Who was phoning?”

“I have my suspicions, but when I say squawk, I mean that rather literally. It sounded like a chicken being startled by a fox. Then emitted a plume of smoke that was in no manner like a calming incense.”

“Oh, so Sherlock wanted a chat.”

“That’s my guess. I thought he might already be here, but maybe he’s too busy trying to blow up my telly or socks.”

“If anyone could explode socks, it _would_ be Sherlock. He hasn’t popped in yet, but I don’t doubt we’ll see his scowling face soon enough. I realize they have a lot of work to do, but I suspect Sherlock’s also having fun getting a look at our world. And getting a look at his brother being… someone very different that the person Sherlock’s used to seeing.”

“You’re probably right. It sounds like a little brother thing to do and there isn’t a littler brother in the universe than Sherlock. How are you, Greg? That’s both up-too-early John and doctor-up-too-early John asking.”

“I’m fine. Mycroft’s convinced that I’ve forgotten how to breathe but, besides that, I don’t feel any worse than before. Maybe a little better, actually. Not so achy.”

“Good! I’ll check things before I leave, but it’s good to hear you’re not decaying like a zombie.”

“Mycroft wouldn’t let me. He’d have to clean the decay and he’s already angry about having to tidy.”

“I am not angry, simply revolted at the level of chaos you create in such a small space.”

Mycroft carefully handed Greg his coffee and shoved John’s cup into his hands, just short of sloshing it over John’s shirt.

“I am not messy. You simply can’t abide a sock on the floor, exploded or not, and water spots on the tap.”

“As I said, chaos. I am curious as to why you believe your socks are prone to explosion, however.”

“Sherlock blew up John’s mobile.”

“Really? That is… interesting.”

“My mobile didn’t think so.”

“Doctor Watson, rest assured your sacrifice was for a vital quantity of data.”

“I’m not feeling a lot of honor from my sacrifice, truth be told. I liked that phone.”

“It was an appallingly- simple example of technology.”

“Not relevant, but thanks for my insult. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

“I do not like you. You are tolerated for your skill in medicine.”

“I feel tingly inside. Greg, is this how you always feel when he says nice things about you.”

“Yep. As soon as he woke, he told me I smelled like a rotting cabbage and I definitely went tingly.”

“Humans are nonsensical creatures. And your odor was positively ghastly. John, inspect him for malfunction.”

“I’ll add that to my checklist. Inspect for stinky malfunction. What’s the news for the portal? Was anything Sherlock and I did useful?”

“Very, actually. I anticipate that Sherlock will have a suite of additional research tasks for you to perform, so… I hope you are wearing comfortable shoes.”

“Wonderful. I’ll need more coffee then. And this is actually excellent, so I’ll gladly drink another cup.”

Greg grinned at Mycroft, who showed his typical discomfort at being complimented for what the king considered a menial task.

“Yes, well… I do nothing if not excellently.”

“Like eat.”

Greg snorted a laugh at Sherlock’s oh-so typical greeting as the younger brother strode into the bedroom, completely failing to hide his delight at seeing John, though he likely was convinced of his impenetrable inscrutability.

“Your brother does eat excellently, as a matter of fact. Very tidy, is our Mycroft. Not a speck on his face or left on his plate when the meal is done.”

“You are love-blinded, human. I will share my selection of images of my brother as a child, his face smeared with food, often being chased by the cook for stealing the food involved in the smearing.”

Greg had rather a lot to say about the love-blinded bit, but the thought of tiny Mycroft, face smeared with traces of stolen food derailed his brain of any productive thought. Which was unfortunate because he probably would have been interested in the gesture Mycroft gave his brother, given the level of filthiness had to be extreme owing to how hard Sherlock did a Visitor version of matronly pearl clutching.

“You are agitating Gregory, brother. His health is delicate and I bid you remember that.”

“Pfft. Look at him. There is nothing there that indicates delicacy.”

Again, Greg had rather a lot to say about that, but he found he actually was landing on Sherlock’s side of the line, so was again derailed by the unique nature of the situation.

“… in any case, if he was a delicate mb&kzu#po!vg&tyycx, I would not have spent my valuable time perfecting the calibration to allow him to have a brief tour of your hideous palace.”

Three derailings in five minutes time was a lot for Greg’s brain, but you didn’t get to the rank of DI if a highly deraily situation could bring you to your knees.

“Tour? What are we waiting for? Let’s go! Let’s go now. Come on, help me out of this bed and into… what should I wear? Shit, I need to shave…”

Three sets of eyes stared at Greg alternately trying to get out of bed and having an appearance meltdown, but only John recognized the clear signs of a teenage human boy worrying about his appearance for a date with his special someone when they might actually be seen by people their special someone knew and might be willing to speak their mind about the scruffy peasant soiling the pavement with their unwashed clothes and uncombed hair.

“Gregory, remain calm. Sherlock, are you saying you completed the construction of a reverse communication system?”

“In a limited fashion. It will suffice, though, for a simple viewing of the premises, through the windows and from various balconies and parapets. This is bD%y@hl$e^y@e.”

Mycroft, John and Greg watched something roll into the bedroom that seemed to be a large diameter loop of thin black wire perched on a second loop that did the actual rolling. None of that did one thing to clarify anything Sherlock had said.

“Ok… Mycroft, this is your area. At least, this is your planet and, I assume, an example of your people’s technology, so want to fill John and me in on what we’re seeing?”

That would be a bit difficult since Mycroft had as much insight as either of the humans. However, it did remind him of something his brother had built long ago when they were young.

“Sherlock… did you repurpose your harassment device?”

“It was not a harassment device. It was a method of communicating with you when I was not present.”

“It followed me wherever I went so you could assault me with both verbal haranguing and the associated sour expression you evince when you are fully-committed to a haranguing.”

“Yes, it is the same device. The rest of your statement is baseless and indicative of your peevish nature. I have reconfigured it to transmit through the system I have created for this mode of communication and…”

Simulacrum Sherlock tapped a spot on the upper ring and it quickly tripled in size.

“… you will be able to view what is sensing here. I have disabled transmission from your end so it will appear here as nothing but… this.”

And, Greg and John recognized, Sherlock being trailed by a pair of large hoops would fail to raise a single eyebrow for anyone he might encounter. It would probably be considered a relatively quiet day for the prince.

“Well done, brother. I commend you for your creative engineering.”

“I have a question, Sherlock.”

The fact John said it with _tone_ already had a smile growing on Greg’s lips.

“What?”

“You introduced your device there with ‘This is,’ not ‘This is a.’ “

“Meaning.”

“Meaning… you named it.”

“I certainly did not.”

John looked over at Mycroft who was struggling to hold back the smile that Greg was now showing brightly.

“You certainly did. You named your little friend. What was it again?”

“You are mistaken.”

“Mycroft? Little help?”

“bD%y@hl$e^y@e.”

“That was both helpful and not at the same time. Greg?”

“Ummmm…. I’m going with Billy.”

“That works! Billy it is. Hello, Billy. I’m John. That’s Greg and that’s Mycroft. Sherlock you already know. Very happy to make your acquaintance.”

“It is an inanimate object.”

“You named him, Sherlock, so that makes him… animate. He’s Billy from now on and he’d likely appreciate you calling him ‘him’ and not ‘it,’ which is rather rude.”

“I am caught in a web of inanity.”

“Well, when you disentangle yourself, can we get started? I, for one, am insanely anxious for this. Greg?”

“Beyond insanely anxious. I have no idea what’s beyond insanity, but I’m there with a pint in hand ready for the show to begin.”

Mycroft debated a variety of cautions, such as waiting until later so Greg could have some rest first, starting everything with a loo break, having John perform his medical checks before they were forgotten in the excitement and... binned them all. He had never been one to let emotion sway him, but his human’s large, eager smile was neatly cutting the legs out from under his caution and prompting him simply have a seat next to the bed, take Greg’s hand in his and ready himself to act as tour guide.

“I shall ensure you see what is possible for you to see, Gregory. Do not worry on that score.”

Greg was practically quivering with glee and Mycroft found himself smiling fondly, knowing full well his brother was seeing everything and adding it to his evidence file for whatever nonsense was swirling in his head.

“I am overseeing this initiative, M%&$*k$hdgg**&^&T!”

“That’s your name! I recognized that. See, I’m learning your language like I said I would.”

Mycroft patted Greg’s held hand and made a mental note to start teaching his human a few simple words and phrases of his own language, perhaps instruct the basic written forms. Gregory had mentioned a desire to learn multiple times and, although said somewhat in jest, Gregory had an undeniable appreciation for knowledge and would surely welcome a few lessons before… there was no longer a teacher present to conduct class.

“John! Why am I not receiving due attention for my feat?”

“Ummmm… maybe because your feat, so far, consists of two hoop and stick toys, minus the sticks.”

“The lack of gratitude that characterizes my existence remains unabated. Very well, we will begin in my laboratory.”

Sherlock waved a hand at Billy and the top hoop flashed a strange teal-yellow color before displaying an image that was all-too-familiar to Mycroft, but had Greg and John gasping in surprise.

“As you can see, it is an exemplar of research facilities.”

Greg looked at John, who simply shrugged and let the unasked question remain unanswered. What the humans saw was a large space that seemed to be created by…

“Glass? Mycroft, is your palace made of glass?”

Elegantly sculpted, blown, colorful walls, columns and floor of gorgeous glass.

“Hmmm… oh, crystal, really, but some is chemically similar to your glass. The palace was effectively carved from the mountain on which it sits, with some additional structural fortification, and this range is heavily infiltrated with crystal. Not all rooms are this… ostentatious, however, Sherlock claimed this space when his tiny feet wobbled him into it as what you would call a toddler. He has always had a dramatic streak.”

Mycroft’s offhand tone was completely unfathomable to Greg and he was glad to see John was as mesmerized by the room as was he. It was as if Sherlock worked inside a breathtaking geode, though the surfaces were smoother. They still held the brilliance and energy of the finest glass or crystal sculptures and certain areas looked very much like what Greg had seen when they closed a case for stolen jewelry ring. One collection had been heavy with large, high-quality opals, both dark and light, streaked with and flashing the most vibrant rainbow of colors. His own fat baby feet would have stayed there, too, not moving an inch until someone put his name on the door.

“It is not drama! I appreciate the geological attributes. Your suite is a dismal cave with no visual or scientific interest, whatsoever.”

“Untrue, brother, as Gregory and John will learn. Conduct your tour of your workspace, then let us move on to other vistas.”

Sherlock frowned, but quickly shifted it to something a teacher might sport when orating on their favorite subject as he directed Billy around his work area, always cutting eyes towards John in what he thought was a surreptitious manner to make certain he was keeping the doctor’s interest.

“We will now view less interesting areas of the palace. This would be an appropriate time to use the toilet or have a nap.”

Despite Sherlock’s ridiculous posturing, it was clear he was eager to showcase his home, slowly walking through the crystalline corridors, now showing more notable traces of stone, highlighting various attributes of the architecture or a particular piece of art, completely ignoring the occasional individual he and Billy passed who, in fairness, gave him only a glance, being highly used to the young prince’s behaviors.

On Mycroft’s part, he was finding it a world of fun to see his home through his Gregory’s eyes. The endless questions, the sheer amazement at what, to him, was utterly commonplace, the pure childlike wonder at every minute detail that Sherlock pointed out, every person he saw, every artifact until Sherlock paused at one, which had his Gregory purely transfixed.

“Mycroft, that’s… that’s you.”

Mycroft sighed softly, but smiled even more softly at Greg’s widened eyes and nearly open-mouthed gape. He always found that particular portrait a touch… feral… but his human seemed to enjoy the sight of him wearing battle gear, wings and claws extended. He had roundly denied the artist the opportunity to litter the ground around him with vanquished foes, mostly because he did not want to stand in that ridiculous pose while various household staff were taken from their duties to lay on the floor, coated in fake body fluids. And keeping that vicious expression on his face for hours on end was positively agonizing…

“It is. There are several of me to be found, but that one is particularly… comical.”

“Comical? That’s… oh, that’s an amazing thing right there. Sherlock, is there any way I can have a copy of that? A still image or something?”

“Hmmm… I suspect Mycroft’s fatness would crush the components of my device, even in electromagnetic form.”

Greg looked for something to throw at Sherlock and nodded his thanks at John who handed him a pen which Greg flicked with the accuracy of a primary school boy flinging his pen at his rival for teacher’s favorite. It sailed completely through the image, of course, but was sufficient to get his point across in fine style. Especially since Sherlock instinctively tried to catch it, which escalated his indignation to the highest heights.

“That was villainous! And inept, for I could have, in the flesh, have easily thwarted your attack.”

“Not much of an attack possible with a pen, but some do say it’s mightier than the sword, so maybe we’d all learn something new. Now, back to my photo…”

Sherlock snarled, but cut eyes towards Mycroft who gave it some thought then, reluctantly, shook his head.

“Unfortunately, we cannot let evidence stand of your contact with my world. It would place both you and John in a situation not to your benefit should that evidence be found.”

“Damn. I sort of hoped you’d changed your mind a bit.”

Mycroft gave Greg’s hand a squeeze, then raised it for a small kiss.

“I wish that was possible, Gregory. I truly do.”

There was a time Greg wouldn’t have believed him but that time was long passed.

“I know. Alright, then… on with the tour!”

Which Sherlock was content to do as it moved him from his brother’s ludicrous portrait to a far more handsome one.

Mycroft snorted in the polar opposite of disbelief at what was the next stop on the tour.

“I was wondering if you had one, too, lad. Nice one. Very nice, indeed.”

And Greg was completely honest about that. Sherlock in a simple purple tunic and loose black trousers, surrounded by some of the items they’d seen in his laboratory, with his expression somber yet slightly haughty, which was a very good look for the prince. Something that was not in the least lost on John, if the rapt expression on his own face was any evidence.

“You… you look good there, Sherlock. Very serious and intelligent.”

“And handsome.”

“Oh, yes. No question about it. First thing I noticed, actually, but thought you’d appreciate the serious and intelligent bits a bit more than pure physical attractiveness.”

“Of… of course! Of course I would. Naturally. Why would you think otherwise? A… ummm… a very astute analysis.”

Greg and Mycroft shared a look and jointly agreed to keep any and all laughter at bay. There was more than sufficient time to let it fly later once Sherlock’s tender ears were not present to hear it.

“Thank you. Of course, my mind might change when we see a baby picture of you.”

“And they do exist, Doctor Watson, no matter the lengths Sherlock might go to hide them from view.”

“Untrue!”

“Our mother delights in showcasing our early years and Sherlock does his best to make that as impossible a task as one can imagine. I have found it simpler to excuse myself for a matter of business when she is indulging her whims but my brother has made a point of never having actual matters of business to manage, so he stays firmly in her clutches until she is content to fling him away.”

In John’s mind, there was a comfort in knowing that mothers of all species adored reminding their adult sons that they would always be adorable little boys in their eyes. And that adoration was something they were hellbent on sharing with everybody in the universe whether said adult sons liked it or not.

“We are continuing on.”

Sherlock’s pronouncement was precisely as pompous as might be expected for someone hoping to deflect attention from a situation not to their liking but it did start the tour once more and neither Greg nor John had any objections to that, especially since the next stop was Mycroft’s throne room which more than lived up to the reputation of a throne room in any film or book in creation. With the addition of the kaleidoscope of colors from the crystal formations that were artistically threaded with tendrils and whorls of a plain black and dark gray stone which served to both emphasize the brilliant hues and add their own layers of visual interest that, had he the option, Greg would have stared at for hours.

The throne itself was solid black with veins of red, orange and yellow formations rising from the bottom as if the carved stone was on fire with the king sitting on the blaze, untouched by the inferno.

“As you can see, Gregory, my eternal anguish. That throne is an absolute arse destroyer.”

“HA! Tell me there’s a cushion or something to soothe the royal bottom.”

“Perish the thought. It would not do for the king to demonstrate weakness by the need for comfort. Father correctly noted that the blasted thing was marvelous inspiration for conducting business as efficiently as possible.”

“Tell me you have a crown.”

“I do, though it is as uncomfortable as the throne. Not a terribly ornamental thing, more a harsh reminder that the king is fully capable of doing more than warming an arse-destroying throne.”

“Along with your portrait.”

“Most assuredly.”

Greg had a strong flash of sorrow for Mycroft at that moment and felt it as a strong clench in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. What a lonely life he must endure and one not provided with many opportunities for being the person Greg had come to know. Yes, there was a brutality, an animalistic nature that was never far from being called into action, but there was another side, too, one more compassionate and caring, though it was terribly rusty from disuse and happier hiding behind a bush than showing its face to the sunshine. It was there, though. And it was beautiful.

The tour continued on, Greg and John soaking in every sight and sound, eventually arriving in Mycroft’s personal suite which, as Sherlock had warned, was far more subdued than any other area of the palace. The darker, plain stone that normally threaded through the gem-like crystals predominated here, with the vibrant colors mostly found on the ceiling where, Greg noted, the bed pointedly was not beneath.

“It’s restful for you, isn’t it, Mycroft?”

The king turned to stare at Greg, then let a very rare full smile light up his face.

“Yes. Yes, it is. There is precious little to stimulate my senses and I can simply… rest. Let my mind wander with an absence of sounds, sights… the demands of countless obligations and the eternal visual reminders that the glory of my surroundings are a fantasy. A resplendent coat for a plain and brutal man. It is a much welcome and greatly needed respite. One I cherish.”

Greg motioned Mycroft to lean over so he could give him a kiss and made sure it said that he not only understood, but he was thrilled his king had at least one place he could find sanctuary from the weight he carried every single day.

“And you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock cut eyes at John, who was smiling enigmatically, which suited the Visitor not at all.

“And me, what?”

“Your private suite?”

“Immaterial.”

“You’ve now confirmed it’s not, so let’s see it.”

“My work area is where my time is spent.”

“I didn’t notice any form of bed or cot in there, so let’s see where you put your kit on every morning. Your brother’s nodding, which tells me this is going to be worth the price of admission.”

“Your admission price is naught, so a speck of dust is worth a greater value.”

“Get going. The faster you show us, the less you’ll suffer because of it.”

Mycroft’s ‘I doubt that highly.’ was not lost on John, which only made him smile more brightly. Seeing the battle was lost, Sherlock left Mycroft’s muted space and down the corridor to another chamber where a Mardi Gras parade had exploded across the expanse.

“Sherlock! That is disgraceful. Tidy your living space!”

“You are not Mummy, Mycroft!”

John shook his head in wonder. Not astonishment, though, because he half-expected this was going to be the state of things. Just, perhaps, not quite as reminiscent of a living clown’s trunk of costumes, props and dirty dishes.

“Not to sound stupid, Mycroft, but don’t you have servants to do that sort of thing?”

“An interesting point, John. Sherlock, would you care to reveal your shame or shall it be my honor?”

“There is no shame here. They are slothful and sluggardly.”

“There is your expected lie, Doctor Watson. The truth is the servants petitioned, which I granted, to be relieved of duty for Sherlock’s private quarters given his abhorrent treatment of them while they are at their work and the volume _of_ work involved in keeping his space neat. He is, therefore, responsible for the upkeep of his living space and, as you can see, it is not a responsibility he takes very seriously.”

“There is no difference in my mental function if my rooms are tidy or disordered.”

“One day, brother, you will go missing and your rotting remains eventually will be found buried beneath a heap of soiled clothing and food platters.”

John simply shook his head and stared at the chaotic space which, though it held the same crystalline beauty as the rest of the palace, was doing its utmost to appear more like a flat John once shared at college with a particularly annoying prat who held an almost religious conviction that any form of cleaning, on his own part, would bring about the end of civilization. Somehow… Sherlock’s mess was more both more chaotic and more endearing. Greg, however, might have debated the endearing bit.

“Lad, that’s a thing I’d expect for a dog’s house. An especially loony dog who brought home every bit of interesting rubbish it found while working its job at the scrapheap.”

“You, aged human, are well-qualified to judge both looniness and rubbish, for they are part and parcel of your fundamental being.”

“That’s pretty good! Your sense of humor is coming straight along. You’ll be ready for poo and fart jokes just like the other seven-year-olds before we know it. Our little boy is growing up, Mycroft. I’m so proud I could cry.”

As fearsome as she could be, Mycroft suspected that his mother would find his human an admirable specimen. As much as she could admire anyone not wealthy or of royal blood, that is.

“Sherlock…”

Mycroft turned at John’s tone and let out a frustrated snort when he caught sight of the reason.

“Brother, what is that t$nj&lbw&^dy;lyq doing in your room?”

The emerald-colored ball of buzz waddled across the field of view on Billy’s screen with very little concern for either Sherlock or the large double-hooped apparatus watching it trundle by.

“Walking.”

“Oh, very amusing. They are entirely unsuited for indoor life and you are well aware of that fact.”

As if on cue, the fuzzball stretched surprisingly long wings and gave a quick flap, which John’s medical eye noted was unevenly distributed in success between the two wings, and made it upwards as far as Sherlock’s large, circular bed.

“He’s hurt. Or she’s hurt, not sure which.”

“He. And yes, his wing was damaged when he… he was being chased by a uk$nv*&fchl?ppk and I believe saw the water reflected in the walls outside my room. The collision was sufficiently forceful to damage his wing. Mycroft’s useless physician was only able to provide remedy for pain, but declared the damage itself irreparable. Therefore, tTyb@e*y, can no longer live in his natural habitat.”

Greg grinned and laughed, especially as the tiny creature began using the clothes abandoned on the bed to form a nap nest for itself.

“You named your puffball Toby?”

“That is an absolute mangling of the simplest of our words, human.”

“Which is not a denial. Mycroft, our little boy brought home a puppy. Can he keep it, do you think?”

“Hmmmm… it is a great responsibility, the life of another in your hands. And once undertaken, it cannot be shirked due to inconvenience or frustration.”

“You’re just worried he’ll let the cute little thing waddle into your royal bedchamber and do a shit in your shoes.”

“That is not a frivolous worry.”

“I didn’t get to see your shoes. Are they nice?”

“Very.”

“Sherlock, Toby’s not allowed to shit in your brother’s shoes, do you understand?”

John observed the dynamic and knew it was futile, but wished a little wish that it wasn’t, by necessity, such a brief thing. During the times they’d had to talk, it had been clear, though he said it in a roundabout way, that Sherlock missed his father. Greg had that ‘dad’ air about him, at times, that much was certain, and it seemed to be something Sherlock gravitated towards even if he didn’t appear to consciously recognize it.

“I understand nothing, human.”

“Mycroft, did you hear that? Did you record it?”

“No, but I dearly wish I had. Sherlock laying bare the truth of his bombastic existence.”

“Do not misperceive my remarks!”

“My perception is my concern, brother. Now, I believe Gregory and John might enjoy a view of our environs. Perhaps… from my viewing gallery.”

Sherlock’s somewhat startled response gave the two humans an idea of just how rarely such an offer was made.

“As you wish. It is, of course, a tremendous imposition. I shall have to carry bD%y@hl$e^y@e up the endless flights of steps.”

“Fly your little friend to the top, then.”

“That is… you know that is not possible.”

“Sherlock… still aquiver with terror at my little playmates?”

“They are not playmates! They are flesh-eating, vile-tempered creatures who, quite rightfully, have decided you are one of their kin and that stupid perch is your dank cave in their colony.”

“Their caves are rather the opposite of dank. Decidedly airy and well kept. Unlike your malodorous den.”

“Mycroft… care to share?”

Sherlock and Mycroft both turned towards Greg, keenly aware that their conversation made no sense to anyone in the room but them.

“About?”

“Your playmates.”

“Oh yes… delightful beasts. They resemble, to a degree, your tiger species in form, though much larger and provided with a muscular bulk that make them decidedly devastating predators. They live in sizeable colonies, each family with its own cave which connects with the others. This mountain is blessed with a very healthy population who are notably ferocious with what they consider outsiders and interlopers. And Sherlock.”

“You started it!”

Confirming Sherlock was not welcome in the land of the mega-tigers.

“I most certainly did not! You were sufficiently foolish to broach the lair of the matriarch… what were you expecting?”

“Not that you would throw a dead u&ttnl~fxr%hy*QP*dm!m onto my head!”

“Because you announced that you wanted to study their ability to leap.”

“She chased me until nightfall!”

“You had her dinner.”

“She thought _me_ her dinner!”

“An understandable mistake.”

This was the sort of entertainment Greg would normally pay good cash to see in the theatre, but this didn’t involve the worry about getting a call midway through the performance that irritated everybody around him including, for some small venues, the performers on stage.

“I hope you are haunted by Grandfather’s ghost, Mycroft.”

“That would be to my liking, actually. He had a stellar head for ruling. Kept his nobles on the shortest of leashes.”

“He was a droning, tedious sack of stale breath and that Grandmother failed to murder him in his sleep baffles me to this day.”

“According to Grandmother, Grandfather was highly talented in the… bedroom. I suspect that smoothed over other aspects of his personality to keep him in her favor.”

“This… I did not need to know this. You divulged this information specifically to curdle my brain matter.”

“If that is all that is required to render you brain nonfunctional, brother, I’m surprised it has not happened years ago. Mummy is decidedly fond of telling stories of her and father’s sexual escapades.”

“My ears have been trained to turn themselves off whenever Mummy begins any conversation not to my liking.”

“Which is most of them.”

“The very reason for my continued contentment.”

“Ummmm… outdoor view?”

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to glare at John, then remembered the reason for their darting top speed down the Nonsense Road.

“But of course! Sherlock, though whichever method makes you the least terrified, venture to my observation spot and allow Gregory and John to have an expanded view of our world.”

Sherlock gave a highly put-upon sigh, then stalked out of the room and to the end of the corridor where he lifted Billy and began the march up the stairs which, both Greg and John had to admit, was a LONG way to walk for one possessing the ability to fly. After eight years of climbing, Sherlock paused, for effect, at a large door that was, rather ominously, carved from a single segment of pure-black crystal, then gave it an inelegant kick to open it and reveal…

… a fantasy novel. Not that the humans thought they were living anything else, but the vista Billy was broadcasting was taken straight from the brilliant and fanciful cover of a fantasy novel, the sort that featured unimaginable views, mountains, dragons and an ocean which simply couldn’t exist outside of some writer’s feverish imagination. Except it did and they were staring at it.

“Mycroft…”

Greg’s soft, nearly breathless voice had Mycroft running a large hand through Greg’s hair, savoring the feel of Greg’s silver locks as much as the sense of wonder his world was bringing to his human’s life.

“You are pleased by what you see?”

The jewel-like beach, vast expanses of brilliant, sparkling water, a few of his court enjoying a flight on this decidedly lovely day, majestic mountains stretching out with what Gregory would not know but were forests peeking through breaks in the crystalline masses. It was all rather commonplace for him, but seeing this world now, he could understand the mesmerizing impact of this scene.

“It’s beautiful. It’s just so beautiful…”

Continuing to thread his fingers through Greg’s hair, Mycroft took a deep breath and smiled, letting the feeling of warmth he’d come greatly to appreciate flow through him without putting up barriers to its path.

“It is. I do not always value it in the manner it deserves, perhaps, but I agree… it is a beautiful sight.”

Sherlock’s eyes had never left John, whose own eyes had never left Billy’s transmission.

“John?”

“Greg’s right, it’s absolutely beautiful. I can see why you’re so scornful about our little ball of mud.”

“It is a deplorable world, that is certain, however… it is not quite as tedious as I once suspected. There are a few features of note.”

John cleared this throat quietly since that statement had been made with Sherlock staring directly into his eyes. When a Visitor fixed you with a look, their black eyes made it something particularly notable. And, if one was in the right frame of mind… special.

“I’m…. glad to hear that.”

“Oh. Yes. Good.”

Greg pulled his eyes from Billy long enough to take in the scene of what he would describe as two idiots just needing to kiss and get it over with, if the kissing prat was at all possible.

“This is… this is the most majestic thing I’ve ever seen, Mycroft. Besides your kingly self that is. I’m glad you have this place to come and escape the world. Between here and your chambers, you have a few safe havens, it seems.”

“I do. This is where I come when I desire… to feel small. To feel only a tiny part of something much larger. It has endured much in its existence, terrible events and blessed ones, yet it endures. It is easy to forget that for all of the power, the ceremony… I am one tiny being who lasts not even a heartbeat of time in this splendor’s existence. It is a welcome reminder, at times, that a king is transitory, no matter the pomp and ceremony with which we festoon ourselves.”

Greg leaned into Mycroft’s continued touch and wondered if anyone had ever heard the king speak like that before. Given Sherlock and John were focused on each other at the moment, he suspected that he was a touch unique in that regard, but he dearly hoped it wouldn’t remain that way. Mycroft deserved someone who could let him be open like this, let him show parts of himself that had to stay in the shadows to everyone else. He’d have to chat with Sherlock out of Mycroft’s presence and encourage the younger man to try to be a bit of a help in that area. Be an ear to listen when Mycroft needed it and start beating the proverbial bushes for someone who could take on the job in a more formal regard. It felt strange that he wanted Mycroft to find someone to love once he returned home, but… he did. Wanted it very, very badly, actually. He honestly couldn’t bear the thought of his Visitor going through life without something similar to what they’d built between them. It was, very clearly, something Mycroft cherished…

“I’m glad you have this then. Even with your feline friends roaming about. Any chance we can see one?”

“Hmmmm… perhaps, given the weather is pleasant. Sherlock, scan to your left and determine if any of your special friends are taking sun.”

Sherlock snarled, but did as requested until he spied a wide ledge where a family of the beasts was enjoying a bright patch of warm light.

“There, Gregory. Sherlock, do what you can to magnify the image.”

Sherlock could only zoom in a small bit more, but it was enough for Greg and John to get a better look at the beasts, who were behaving very much like cats in a patch of sunlight, though the very smallest still looked as if it could slaughter a platoon of soldiers and use their bones to pick its teeth clean afterwards.

“They’re amazing. Probably not the type to be content with a saucer of cream, but those are some handsome creatures. John there is probably wondering if you can ride them, but I’ll be the one to ask in case he’s feeling a bit shy.”

John snorted a laugh, but had to concede that his mind was scrolling through childhood daydreams when where he rode ferocious beasts and went on grand adventures. And only some of them involved him in warrior’s armor, carrying massive weapons, and winning fierce battles against armies of villainous foes. His one disappointment with the Army was its utter lack of battle beasts and decidedly non-colorful warrior’s armor.

“Unfortunately, I think they would react somewhat poorly to an attempt. However, if you are on their approved list of territorial visitors, they are oft-times well-disposed towards accompanying you on a journey. Provided it remains in their domain and intersects sources of food or play at various points along the way.”

“And if you’re not on the approved list?”

“You become both the food _and_ the play.”

“Very simple rules. Smart.”

“That they are.”

And only one example of the life on their world that Gregory would adore seeing. Such a curious man, far from what he’d believed when they first met and so eager to learn new things. To show him a new world, let him experience everything it had to offer… what a delight to contemplate. At the very least, Sherlock’s ridiculous contrivance would give his human as much of a view as could be managed in this brief time remaining.

“What is that!”

John was pointing exactly like someone who really didn’t want to point in case it drew attention to themselves from the thing they were pointing at which, coincidentally, seemed the sort to find a pointing finger a tasty nibble during a swim.

“Good spotting, Doctor Watson. We _are_ fortunate today, it seems. The rtk&bNl*dfxkL!g’pf^As%%q prefer hunting at night, however, if their prey is being particularly enticing, they will appear during the afternoon hours.”

How Mycroft could sound so calm and almost amused by what looked like a storybook sea serpent John had no idea, but it wasn’t stopping him now having a mental battle over which he’d rather ride more, a battle cat or a sea monster. A clear winner was not emerging. And his words confirmed, also, that he was seeing an afternoon view. He’d never thought to ask about time, but it seemed there was a time-zone difference, so to speak, between the two worlds. Which meant Sherlock kept some _very_ late hours. It suited him, though…

“That is fucking incredible…”

Greg was currently having his own mental battle which was between a deep desire to swim in that glorious bluer-than-blue ocean and being utterly terrified _to_ swim in that glorious bluer-than-blue ocean. There was no doubt in his mind that those enormous sea serpents were not the most lethal things waiting for luckless swimmers who ventured into their watery realm.

“Gregory, your thoughts betray you. Swimming is quite safe, provided you take proper precautions, as you would for the sea outside this cottage.”

“They won’t eat you?”

“Oh, gladly, however, they prefer larger prey as they do not feed every day. The greater worry are smaller creatures with levels of toxins that can incapacitate if you are weak of constitution. We do see occasional incidents of the young being poisoned because they ran afoul of something which did not appreciate being used as a toy.”

“My constitution’s fairly weak. You’ll protect me if I venture out to wet my toes, right?”

“Most certainly! Nary a vzh*g^Urdnfl@ykp shall give you even the slightest annoyance while your toes moisten.”

“Perfect! I’m going to imagine myself swimming in that glorious water and you keeping watch for wee beasties going after my poor toes. In between, of course, imagining having an explore with those big cats or you taking me for an afternoon flight or just sitting with a glass of wine and gazing at the walls of your palace. I’m spoiled for choice!”

And he would be. What riches he could offer his Gregory… not only of wealth, but experience. Of opportunity… none were possible, of course, but he was resolved that Gregory would not be forgotten. It was the right of a king to direct how his chronicles were scripted and Gregory Lestrade would not be omitted from the annals of his life. It was a small thing, the tale of one king’s journey to this world and the man he chose to… grant both care and respect… but it was an immortalization never granted to a member of Gregory’s species. For this man, though, it _would_ happen and woe be it to them who voiced any protest concerning a human becoming a part of the royal history.

Of course, Sherlock was allowed say over his own portion of the royal archives and it was highly likely another human would sneak into the volumes of lore proclaiming the history of their people. Oh well, their family was, by far, the most successful and colorful dynasty, so it was fully in keeping with their reputation to date.

“Ooh… what’s happening to the sky?”

Mycroft tore his gaze from his human and smiled softly at Billy’s new revelation.

“One of the moons is rising. $Btn&^TnvhaZ()f?kylqpo#, to be exact. As it does so, it alters spectrum of light reaching us from the nearest star and there is a shift in color of the sky.”

Which had been a few degrees to the green of what this world enjoyed but was now regaling Greg’s eyes with a purplish color, though still sporting cheeky green leanings. Shaking his head at how house proud he’d been about _this_ world and how he'd bristled when Mycroft took a swipe at it, Greg paused a moment to put those moments in proper perspective. No wonder Mycroft and Sherlock thought it was boring here! Compared to their world, this was plain, drab and unexciting. 

Though, strangely… this world was a lot like Mycroft’s quarters. Duller, more muted… maybe that factored into how the king was able to relax into life on Earth. Despite the worry about going home, this may actually be a restful place for him. Do simple things, see simple things… such a shame it couldn’t last longer. For several reasons.

“I know you and Sherlock have a lot to do today, but do you think we could have another tour to see your world at night? When both moons are in the sky?”

John’s ears perked up at that and added a vigorously nodded agreement to Greg’s request.

“I see no reason why not. It would be a pleasant interlude to interrupt the tedium of being harassed by my brother.’

“Oh, that’ll be a treat. Really, Mycroft, this is beyond belief. Sherlock, thank you. I know you didn’t have to do this, but it means a lot that you did. I really appreciate it.”

Sherlock wasn’t particularly comfortable with honestly expressed emotions and certainly wasn’t here, but he had to confess, at least to himself, that it was nice to be acknowledged for his work with something other than the standard thinly-veiled distaste and bafflement of the royal court. None of whom had sufficient intellect to make any judgement of his efforts! What a strange universe that someone even less knowledgeable of science saw his achievements for what they were worth. Though, perhaps the intellectual aspect was not the critical element…

“Yes, well… it was a minor matter. I will see if I can integrate a connection with my observatory so that you can achieve a more detailed look at the moons. Depending… depending on the available timeframe, I may be able to affect connections to other of my devices to allow for a broader view of our vastly superior world.”

Mycroft remained silent but Greg could see the pride radiating off of him at Sherlock’s words. It seemed a little positive interaction did wonders for the prince and he could only hope that Mycroft could find time and or help to ensure that the younger man continued to get the sort of attention that was making him bloom noticeably even during the short time they’d known each other.

“I’d love that, lad. It would be an honest treat and whatever you can manage, I’ll be grateful for. Unlike John. Who’s a bastard.”

Sherlock immediately readied himself to launch into a defense, then noticed Greg’s grin and John’s happy nodding. This, apparently, was an example of human humor. Inexplicable, but as long as John was not upset…

“I will have Mycroft find John’s mother a husband and rectify the situation.”

Success! John was laughing. As with all things, focused study and experimentation brought the required results. His notes on human behavior were already paying hefty rewards.

“Mum would like that, actually. She always complains her current husband is a bit of a berk, so someone new and exciting would certainly meet with her approval. But Greg’s right… this is an amazing experience. Thanks. It’s something I won’t ever forget.”

And someone I won’t ever forget, either. It’s going to hurt to see you leave, Sherlock. I hope you’re nudging your brother to keep some communication open because it would be a terrible thing to never have the chance to talk to you again. Oh… and I do like the way you’re looking at me like you’re reading my mind and are already on the job. At least, that’s what my loony brain is going to believe barring direct and forceful evidence to the contrary.

“That… that is kind of you to say, John.”

Greg nudged Mycroft, who simply smiled and prepared himself for another bout of his brother demanding to be allowed to maintain contact with John once the portal proved successful. It was tiresome, however, he would patiently sit for the lecture and take whatever abuse flowed after another refusal, because anything was worth seeing his brother realize that opening himself to others was not the pestilent experience he imagined.

“Since it seems we’re going to be at this a little longer… then come back to it for another go, Mycroft, how about a bit more coffee? I hate to ask, but I’ve drained this dry and you get to see this sort of thing every day, so to speak…”

John waggled his empty cup at the king, with Greg’s added in with a slightly shakier waggle since he was holding it with the arm attached to his ouchie zone.

“Very well, but Gregory also requires breakfast.”

“Ok, then add breakfast to our order.”

“That was most plural, Doctor Watson.”

“It was, at that. This coffee is excellent, so I have little doubt you’ll do right by a nice plate of breakfast, too.”

“I… that is undoubtedly true, however, do not become used to my servitude. This shall be a unique occurrence.”

“I am writing a strong mental memo about that very thing right now.”

Mycroft pursed his lips, but rose and collected the two cups, letting his fingers trail over Greg’s as he did so. Yes, he and his brother should be working on the portal, but… it was a fair exchange, one day of their work for a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the humans. Besides, there were a few small devices he could work on while acting as tour guide and it was guaranteed that Sherlock had something ongoing in his workspace that he would check periodically. A blessing about having a tremendous, as well as nimble intellect was that multitasking became childishly easy.

Today, though, it might pale in comparison to the blessing of seeing his Gregory glow with undisguised joy. He had seen much in his life, but nothing quite as beautiful as that…


	31. Chapter 31

Despite being former military, the habit of rising early hadn’t taken root in John, though he prided himself on not being an entirely disreputable slugabed. Except for today, that is, because their tour had lasted until the wee hours and, even if it hadn’t, it had been a delight to simply linger in bed and let the images of what he’d seen run through his head. Magnificent. Entrancing. Unbelievable. And Sherlock said he could have another look about anytime he liked. Which wouldn’t likely be today since he’d volunteered to help the base staff with a round of physical checks, but tomorrow looked clear as crystal. Or clear as Billy, in this case.

First, though, he had a call to make…

“Took you long enough to answer, Mike. Drag you out of your bed, you lazy sod?”

Said with gratitude that you can’t see me still lying in bed like a truly impressive lazy sod.

“John Watson, what a curse to hear your voice.”

“A sentiment I fully understand and reciprocate with vigor.”

“You’re calling to find out why _I_ called, aren’t you, evil-spirited bastard.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you phoned Mycroft specifically to put the bug in my ear _for_ me to phone you.”

“That would be incredibly devious and manipulative. Well done me.”

“And people think you’re a kindly, cheery fellow. Little do they know the horrible truth. And, speaking of horrible truths… should I brace myself?”

“Ultimately, that’s for you to tell me. I do receive any and all information about my former patient, including the number of times his on-scene doctor pays a visit. A number which seems to be inexplicably high. It’s piqued my curiosity. And concern.”

Shit. Busted.

“Nothing to be piqued about, really, just making certain Greg’s injuries from Mycroft’s attempted escape are a distant memory and he’s keeping fit and healthy. I was a little worried for a bit that he wasn’t getting as much activity, mental and physical, as was good for him, but he seems to be doing better on that score. I’d like to see him pursue some additional interests or hobbies, but’s got a lot of reading going, has been taking walks for exercise, keeping up with the household jobs… not sitting and watching telly all day even if that might be a touch more comfortable and easy. He’s paying mind to his own wellbeing, not just focusing on being Mycroft’s caregiver, which was another worry I had at the back of my mind. I think, too, he’s having fun with Mycroft’s turn as an electronics geek and that’s working to put something fresh in his life.”

It probably wasn’t a good sign of character for a doctor to be able to lie that easily, but it was working in his favor here, so there would be naught for complaints.

“Ah… that’s definitely a real concern, knowing what I do of Greg, so it’s good you’re keeping eyes on it. Anything else?”

“Not on my side but, for some reason, I get the impression you think there _should_ be.”

“Not really. Greg’s latest blood panel was as expected…”

“Meaning no improvement.”

“Since we don’t expect any, that’s not a bad sign, in reality. Greg’s on the same track as predicted and I’ve not seen indication that will change. I’d say he’ll get the full time possible and it’ll be on Mycroft to determine when that time ends. It’s a terrible thing, the naked truth, but it’s also… I’ve talked to enough members of the program to know they don’t regret it, even when they’ve been living with their charge for some time, so every day is a bit of a surprise to be among the living. The very few that do express regrets, and regret really isn’t the right word for it, are those who outlived their Visitor.”

“Speaking of…”

Since the door was opened nice and wide…

“… Greg’s a little worried about that. Mycroft spends a LOT of time outdoors and flying.”

“Then… if that situation arises, he decides what to do. Stay in the cottage or choose somewhere else to spend the remainder of his time. It’s not an easy choice. The cottage is the perfect spot for tranquility and beauty, but isolated and that’s not always the best for a patient’s state of mind. Other locales, even London, offer more chance for interaction, but not the chance to fill your eyes and ears with the beauty of nature and have the chance to fully relax. Don’t be afraid to talk to him about it, John. Greg may not know his own mind yet and be concerned there’s a ‘right’ choice. There isn’t. Reassure him of that.”

“I will. And, if he stays in the cottage, provided the worst happens, I’ll still be here and that’s a friendly face he can count on. I like Greg, we have a good time together when I visit, so it’s certainly not a hardship stepping up the visitation frequency if it’s necessary.”

Which it will be, if things go as planned.

“Good! It’s doubtful that eventuality will come to pass, but it’s good to know Greg will have someone to keep him company besides a voice on the phone or a face on the computer. How are thing going aside from that? Any further storms between our two housemates?”

Because I still have a suspicion there’s something you’re keeping from me, dear Doctor Watson, but if it’s not a health worry or if it’s something Greg asked to be kept confidential, then I’ll leave matters alone. I wouldn’t have recommended you for that job if I thought you’d actively do something against a patient’s best interests. It never hurts to nudge a bit, though.

“Not particularly. Those initial problems seem to be a thing of the past and they’re working very well together to see to the household chores and, better still, enjoy time in each other’s company. I think Mycroft, especially, is surprised how close they’ve become. Greg’s dogged persistence and optimism wins the day!”

“Excellent. Our Greg is a man of many talents. Well, what else can I do for you, John?”

“Not a thing! Just checking in since Mycroft said you’d phoned.”

“Alright, then. I’m off to earn my keep. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. Fancy lunch in London one day soon?”

“Are you paying?”

“I might be persuaded.”

“Then my schedule is always open. Talk to you later.”

That he would. It genuinely would be nice to catch up with Mike, talk about more than work. And, it would be excuse enough to give Sherlock the tour of London he’d semi-promised. After the tour _he’d_ been given, it was only fair. London didn’t compare to any of that, but it was something Sherlock would never have a chance to see for himself, so time to plan a quick trip out before… it was too late. Greg wasn’t the only one poised to be left alone very, very soon, if all went to plan, and it didn’t feel good. Not at all. Not one bit.

And, maybe it was his imagination, but it seemed Sherlock might be feeling the same way…

__________

“You overcompensated, M%&$*k$hdgg**&^&T.”

“The sensitivity of this apparatus is preposterously fine.”

“Incorrect. Your fat, fumble-fingers are to blame and no amount of technology-shaming shall change that fact.”

“Yes, that is surely the case. Now, shall we try again?”

Greg listened to the bickering and smiled widely. Mycroft actively engaged in something meant he wasn’t wasting time hovering and fretting in here. Which was _not_ necessary because, truth be told, he felt fairly decent today. A good deal of that could be attributable to yesterday’s mind-blowing experience, but he’d take any help boosting himself out of the physical funk he’d fallen into. Today – out of bed and doing something productive. That might be limited to having a shower, alone, making a few snacks, alone, staring out of the window with a cup of hot coffee or tea in his hand, without continuous support and tut-tutting for being on his feet, but that would be leagues beyond what the past several days had brought, so it would be a victory worth savoring.

Not that sharing a shower, being handed a snack, given support and concerned tut-tutting wasn’t nice. It was. It was, frankly, some of the nicest things in the world. Wonderful, special things that, if he was honest, he’d not enjoyed terribly often in this life. Certainly not with his wife. Funny that he’d thought that was a sign of independence… of hers and her desire for him to have his. Now he saw it for what it really was. Just a desire not to have much to do with him unless she gained as much or more than he did out of the experience. Or, maybe, that was just him being a sour bastard about the whole business now that he’d seen something better. Something more beautiful, more meaningful and more fulfilling. Funny that it took someone of a completely different species to show him what…

… it was a hard word to say, wasn’t it? Even to himself. Especially when their relationship was so bloody strange. From where it began to where it was now, the soaring heights and crashing lows, all in a whisper of time. But, since this was only in his head…

… funny that it took someone of a completely different species to show him what love felt like. It was ludicrous, of course, given the circumstances, but he loved Mycroft. No idea when a warm sensation deep camaraderie and care, which could exist for a friend or family member, tipped over into something very, very different, but it really was his luck that he’d come to love a person who would soon be leaving this little ball of rock. Not that Mycroft staying would make a lot of difference since _he’d_ be leaving here soon enough, but it actually put a smile on his face just how ridiculous life could be at times and… he appreciated that. Life was a complex, chaotic, unfathomable mess of days and things and thoughts and feelings and actions and inactions and it was just a glorious business that nobody should ever take for granted. Not one fucking day of it should be taken for granted because this was the only life a body had and what you wasted, you wasted. A lesson learned for him too late, perhaps, but it was a lesson that, if he could do one last good deed, he’d make certain that Mycroft realized what _he_ finally recognized after many years of existence and, king or not, take every possible opportunity to live life as fully as possible. Find time in that duty and obligation and whatnot to be Mycroft. Just Mycroft. No wasting, no squandering and no living without laughter and love and time to enjoy everything that life laid at his feet.

“Gregory? Gregory…”

“Oh… sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

“I am speaking directly into your ear.”

“That doesn’t matter much when you’ve got a brain as feeble as mine.”

“The human speaks truth!”

“Be silent, brother. Gregory… are you alright? I am concerned.”

And he was. Even with those pitch black eyes, it was so, so evident. And marvelous.

“I’m fine. Just lost in my thoughts a moment. Happens.”

“Very well. Your coffee appears chilled. I shall pour a fresh cup for you.”

“Thanks! Then I promise to pay more attention to the actual world and ask important questions such as what are you two gadget wizards doing?”

“According to Sherlock, fumbling and failing, however, I believe he is being somewhat hysterical.”

“Making progress, though, right?”

“Most certainly. While Sherlock was providing your tour, he was using the communications link as a test in and of itself that is informing today’s work.”

“Efficient! Smart not to waste time when you’ve got so little to spare.”

Greg smiled brightly and was confused as to why Mycroft looked surprisingly sad.

“Gregory… there is something I must tell you.”

“I’m sexy?”

Mycroft softly snorted and Greg caught sight of Sherlock disappearing into the bedroom with some geegaw from his workspace in his hands. Apparently, this was to be a private conversation. Likely… not a good one.

“Of course, that goes without saying. It is simply… Sherlock believes that we will be achieve a testable portal… in two weeks time. Less now, actually.”

In his work, Greg had the unfortunate occasion or two to catch a blow to the gut from particularly dedicated fists and this blow put all of those to shame.

“Two weeks? That’s… not a lot of time.”

“No, but we have no knowledge of how much time I have remaining, therefore…”

“Therefore the sooner the better. Right. Yeah… that’s true and it’s absolutely top priority for you to get that portal functioning. What can I do to help? Anything at all, just ask.”

Humans were difficult creatures and for a myriad of reasons, one of which was they could be problematic to interpret in terms of words compared to body language and facial expressions. Gregory’s words were encouraging, his smile was luminous, but his eyes held so much pain…

“I will, Gregory. For now, to know you wish us luck is sufficient.”

“I don’t wish you luck! That can be bad or good and now is not the time to take chances. I wish you success. Whole different matter entirely.”

“And you claim yourself feeble-brained.”

“Proud of it, too. So… my coffee?”

This time, Greg’s smile could only muster a brittle showing and Mycroft wrapped his long arms around him, holding Greg close to his comfortingly warm body.

“I do not wish for this, Gregory. I despise this situation. It is the most terrible of things – a circumstance having no path to something we can share. If I could change things, amend the future to deliver something different, I would. I would do it without hesitation. Without thinking. And without regret. But, though my power is vast, that desire is and will remain out of my reach. I am sorry. I cannot now or ever express the depth of my remorse that I cannot grant us a happy resolution to our woes. I would if I could. You must believe that and never, ever have cause to doubt.”

Greg gripped Mycroft as tightly as he could, though the payment for it was a hot lash of pain that he only partly hid from Mycroft’s notice. The king, however, chose not to comment this single time.

“I won’t doubt, Mycroft. I promise.”

Greg held the embrace a few moments longer, then took a deep breath and let his arms drop, leaning back a little when Mycroft finally let his own arms fall away.

“Will you promise me something, though?”

“If I am able.”

“Promise me… promise me you’ll remember this place. This time. Remember how it made you feel and realize that you deserve it. You _deserve_ to be happy and loved and enjoy this one life you’ve been given. Promise me you’ll return home and be a good king, a great king, but also a happy man. Find someone to care about, build a fulfilling life full of love and joy and everything I desperately want for you. I can’t give it to you, save for these few scant weeks, but promise me you’ll carry the feeling with you and do your utmost, your fucking utmost, to find it again. Please, if you can do anything for me, do that. Promise me you’ll be happy. Loved, cared for and happy.”

Mycroft stared at Greg, feeling a maelstrom of fractured emotions swirl violently through him, alternately threatening to drag him under and pull him up from the depths. Gregory had no idea what he was asking. But, it was precisely the thing someone like his human _would_ ask. This man who had born so much, suffered from the very first of their meetings, knew this empty king better, in some ways, than his brother… he knew the hardest thing to ask of all. And the most important.

“I promise, Gregory. I vow this to you – I shall strive to achieve all you desire for me and experience those things only you have made possible for me _to_ enjoy. That shall be my enduring bond with you and it is one I shall not break.”

This time, the pain in Greg’s eyes was the minor player in a greater play where the main role was played by satisfaction. True contentment. Mycroft knew he did not deserve this man. There was little more difficult for a king to admit, but he did _not_ deserve this person’s admiration, affection or attention. Gregory was a good man. He certainly was not, but Gregory was and, were it possible, he would devote himself to seeing this good man cared for and protected for the rest of his days.

“That thrills me, Mycroft. You have no idea how much. It’s a source of joy, thinking about you living on and doing great things, now with someone special to make those great things seem all the more wonderful. I’m genuinely, absolutely thrilled. Think of something you’d like to do to celebrate and we’ll make that our evening. Nothing too scandalous if Sherlock is still here, though. Hate to shock the boy too terribly. Or make him feel inadequate.”

Greg waggled his eyebrows and drew an impish grin from Mycroft, though His Majesty did his best to conceal it.

“A tragic fate, to be sure. Shall we have him rejoin us?”

“It’s a sacrifice. This lovely peace and quiet. Not often we get to enjoy that sort of thing when the kids are home.”

“You state an unwavering truth of my life most succinctly. Regardless, I have little doubt he is currently ruminating upon how to see more of your personal possessions than those currently exposed to his eyes and we remember well the unhappy fate of Doctor Watson’s communication device.”

“I predicted he could explode socks. I am not eager to test that prediction. My socks are so warm and fuzzy.”

“Then let us safeguard their structural integrity and I shall continue to assist Sherlock with his latest endeavour. Have you received word from your colleague concerning the next shipment of components?”

“No, but I’ll reach out today to find if they’re ready. Anderson said a few might be tricky to have built, but he was certain he knew the right people to see it done.”

“Done and done in time are two separate matters.”

“I’ll apply the proper threats and chastisements.”

“Very well.”

“Well enough for…”

Greg used the arm on his good side to lift and waggle his coffee and beamed brightly when Mycroft sighed and took it from his hand.

“You have sufficient in the preparation container for this cup. Do you require more?”

“Ummmm… might as well. I’d like to actually stay a bit active today, nothing stressful, I promise, and a quantity of liquid pep will help with that.”

“If I observe undue pep, we shall speak in depth on your inability to care for your health and why John must not issue complaint when he next visits and finds you chained to the toilet.”

“You’re letting me have a toilet. That’s kind.”

“A king must balance mercy with punishment, lest he invite cruelty into his judgements.”

Handing Greg’s refilled cup to the grinning human, Mycroft used the following moments of starting another pot of coffee to turn eyes on Sherlock who was failing utterly to hide himself listening in on their conversation. So be it. Let the boy view his brother unvarnished, utterly laid bare. He would not return home the same man who left and it might be good that one person knew that truth, for he could show no changes to his court or people. And… it would be a balm to have someone to whom to speak about this time and experience. Someone who understood. And had also suffered loss because of it.

“Are we ready continue, brother?”

Sherlock took two steps back from the doorframe he was hiding behind, so his stride was settled into pattern and it didn’t look as if he was just starting his return _from_ the doorframe he was hiding behind.

“Given I am not infected with your sluggardly ways, the answer should be obvious.”

“Excellent. Gregory, we have an abundance of unscheduled time now at our disposal. Shall we take to the air and make good use of it?”

“That was not the obvious answer!”

“Do pardon me. Gregory, it appears we must postpone our interlude.”

The distraught look on Greg’s face brought a small smile to Mycroft’s lips, one that grew infinitesimally when Greg’s look succumbed to bout of giggling that couldn’t be held down another second.

“I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

“Have another of your pills and perhaps that will affect a cure.”

“Brilliant! Coffee and pills. I had a few mornings like that in my bad old youth. A few evenings, too. You’ve got gadgets to build?”

“Test, rather.”

“Will it be interesting to watch?”

“I… I am inclined to say no, however, there is _some_ danger of catastrophic failure which may be accompanied by a degree of… pyrotechnics. I believe that is the correct term.”

“Ooh! That’s worth watching. Let me know when you’re doing something likely to be spectacularly disastrous and I’ll make popcorn.”

“With butter?”

“Gobs.”

“We have an accord.”

Greg wondered if it would be possible to send a large sack of popcorn back with Mycroft through the portal. It probably wouldn’t last a fortnight the way the king adored his buttery snack, but it’d be a good transition treat while he settled back into daily life. And completely perplex anyone who stumbled across him tossing handfuls into his eager mouth. Kings should always keep people guessing, or so he’d been told by someone very much in the know…

__________

“We have yet to make your human happy.”

“True. Nary a single thing has exploded and caused wholesale mayhem.”

“That is likely why he abandoned his seat for our performance.”

Sherlock’s small nod towards the door had Mycroft frowning since he had been too focused on the task at hand to notice Greg had gone outdoors.

“That is too much exertion for him.”

“If he is running in circles around the cottage, yes. Anything else, no.”

“He could have taken himself down the harrowing path to the water’s edge and… met a foul end.”

“You have been listening to far too many of the humans’ mystery stories.”

“Perhaps. Let me verify Gregory’s continued existence in the mortal realm…”

Sherlock simply shook his head in exasperation while Mycroft rose and, for no good reason, cautiously approached a window to peer out, hoping not to see a lifeless corpse lying face down in the surf. An alive body sitting upright on their bench was actually a slight disappointment. Maybe he should curtail… somewhat… his consumption of radio plays.

“Gregory! You should not be sitting unsupported.”

“Then say something supportive to fix things.”

“^jv*ldtnnA!ch<>*cwz.”

“Funny. Or not. You could have called me a rat bastard and I’d never know. Language lessons tomorrow?”

“We shall begin with expletives so you may know when you are being disparaged.”

“Perfect! And, for your information, I was just having a look at the water. It’s lovely today, isn’t it? Not as lovely as with your world, but I adore it, all the same. I _would_ appreciate a few giant cats romping in the sand, though. Toss out balls of string for them to play with. Or a few lorries. You know, I didn’t see any pets for you in that palace of yours. Sherlock’s got Toby, but… no furry friends to crawl on your lap when you’re sitting and having a think?”

“No. My household staff has enough to do without feeding and tending to the cleaning needs associated with a pet.”

“You could do it.”

“I admire your sense of humor, Gregory. It is most refreshing.”

“Something I’ve been told many times. Usually by people as drunk as me, but I still take pride in it.”

Mycroft walked outside and reached out to rub Greg’s neck the way he’d noticed his human enjoyed and growled loudly when his fingers made contact.

“You are chilled and in pain.”

“Am I?”

“You are trembling and at a frequency I have noted when you are unwell.”

“You’ve noted that, have you? That’s impressive. And… right on the chilled bit. Not so much the in-pain piece, but I think it’s not long in coming. Escort me inside?”

Mycroft shook his head, then scooped up Greg with practiced gentleness and carried him back into the cottage, very carefully setting him down and holding him a moment while Greg got his balance.

“The best way to travel. Now, one pain pill and a bracing glass of water, then… I suppose I can’t have a bracing glass of anything more potent with my meds in my system, but one of your Cokes will do nicely as a substitute. And another when we enjoy our popcorn when Gadget Time is done for the day?”

“A plan with my wholehearted approval. I shall obtain your medication.”

“No, I’ve got it. Keep with the theme of me not being useless today. Here I go! Hold your applause until the end.”

It went against Mycroft’s instincts to let Greg do any further walking, but the short trip to his bedroom and back was not terribly stressful and he could then ensconce the prideful man in a comfortable chair for a short while before he successfully made the argument for a nap. It would give him and Sherlock time to finish for the day then send his brother on his way so a quiet evening with popcorn _could_ commence. Speaking of… where was his brother? Oh… in his bedroom. Strange, but that described much of Sherlock’s life.

“Have you completed your spying, brother?”

“Sp…spying? Ah… yes. That. You… have nothing I would ever deem worthy of spying upon.”

Strange. Of a different sort.

“You routinely spy upon me, so your statement is the epitome of nonsense.”

“I care not.”

“Hey! That’s his line. Don’t steal your brother’s role, you understudy.”

Sherlock turned towards Greg who was now sticking out his tongue and trying to swagger into the sitting room, quickly changing his mind since swaggering involved various muscles that were not pleased to be abused for a bit of cheap theater.

“My Coke, good sir?”

Mycroft took 2 Cokes from the refrigerator and removed the cap before handing one to Greg.

“Aaaaaaahhhhh…. the pause that refreshes. Fuck water, I say, and have my lovely little pill with another swig of this sweet, fizzy beverage. It’s a shame, Sherlock, you can’t have any Coke. Or popcorn. Your brother has found a few things he enjoys here and you’d likely appreciate them, too, what with them being geared both towards adults _and_ children.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and set his lips in a straight line before striding forward, taking the bottle from Greg’s fingers and downing the remainder in a single swallow.

“Hmmm… not as atrocious as I anticipated. I shall have another. And popcorn. And whatever my food-worshiping brother finds palatable. If I am to collect data, I must have a robust sample size.”

Mycroft and Greg stared open-mouthed at Sherlock whose expression was shifting to a satisfied smirk that held something slightly less satisfied around the edges. Apparently, today was a day of surprises but, as with luck, that could be a good or bad thing…


	32. Chapter 32

Sherlock’s satisfied smirk lasted a moment more while Mycroft and Greg gaped at him, then both he and the Coke bottle dropped to the ground, which did the trick of rousing the other two from their trances as they leapt to help.

“Mycroft…”

“He is internally agitated, however, that is not uncommon after portal travel.”

“You… _you_ didn’t pass out, did you?”

“No, but I also take greater care of my health than my brother how goes for days without proper food and nearly without sleep. And… I have no firm idea how stable or safe was whatever he traveled through to reach here.”

“Will he be alright?”

“Yes. I suspect so. He appears overly stressed and… ah, you are worried.”

“Of course I’m worried!”

“Interesting.”

“Why?”

“I would assume the shock of his presence would override other emotions, but It appears I was incorrect.”

“You’re a tragic figure, Mycroft. Work on that, will you? While you’re on with making yourself less tragic, help me get him into… we’ll put him in your room since it’s warm and the lad’s not really dressed for these temperatures.”

Mycroft snorted, but picked up Sherlock and walked to his own bedroom to deposit him on the bed.

“And while we’re at it…”

“We were at something?”

“Yes. And while we’re at it, why aren’t you worried? Wait… were you expecting this?”

There were tones in Greg’s voice that were very much stinging Mycroft’s ears but it didn’t get to answer in a timely enough manner to stop Greg’s eyes from narrowing and positioning himself where his narrowed eyes could be accompanied by a finger pointed directly at Mycroft’s face to emphasize the aforementioned tones.

“Well?”

“In the sense, was this a planned event, no. I was not expecting this. In the sense, do I know my brother, to a degree it is an expected thing. Sherlock’s capacity for thinking through the consequences of his actions, acting rashly and without consideration of his heath and well-being… enormous. His capacity for doing something precisely like this is positively enormous and while I attest I _am_ surprised he is here, I am also _not_ surprised he is here.”

Greg slowly lowered his finger and not only because Mycroft had bared his teeth and was moving towards said finger as if it was one of his precious potatoes.

“Alright… that actually makes sense. Just! It _just_ makes enough sense that I believe you. The question, now, is what the fuck to we do with him? And…”

Those narrowed eyes softened as the potential consequences of this little trip rose in his mind.

“He’s not got his gadgets and whatnot here. Mycroft… did this trap you both?”

“I… let us hope that is not the case.”

“Meaning you don’t know.”

“Until Sherlock wakes, I will know little. However, Sherlock’s lack of self-preservation instincts is sometimes moderated by his thirst for scientific experimentation if the harm he might receive would negatively impact his continued ability to conduct whatever experiment is currently on his agenda.”

“He likely won’t shoot himself in the foot if he needs that foot for something sciency. Got it. Think… we should phone John?”

The fact that Mycroft was beginning to grin, and rather evilly at that, confirmed this _was_ the proper course of action, so Greg quickly grabbed his mobile and gave it a tap.

“John! You fiendish bugger. Fancy an entertaining afternoon that only I can offer?”

“Mycroft closed the sex tap and you’re hoping for a new hose?”

“That’s… that’s both disgusting and funny. Nicely done!”

“Thank you. Donations accepted to help continue with my creative work.”

“I can offer a soothing beverage of your choice, scintillating conversation and, perhaps, something fresh to titillate your senses.”

“We’re back to the sex thing again, aren’t we? I’ve seen you naked, you pillock. It’s not titillating. More terrifying than anything.”

“Get your knickers on, John, then get the rest of you out here for some fun. If it makes you happy, you can have a fondle of lovely red skin while you’re here. You do enjoy that, pervert that you are.”

No, it wasn’t mature to hold the phone to his chest and giggle like a schoolboy, but Mycroft was exasperated by his silliness which made it all the funnier and he couldn’t give away the game by making John suspicious. Where was the fun in that?

“Ok, that’s the only thing in all your stupid words I appreciate. I have wanted to take another look at how that patch of skin is faring and I don’t have anything else in my diary for the day. But, hear me well – if this involves fancy dress and spankings, I’m turning straight around and coming home.”

“How about spankings and no fancy dress?”

“Let me grab my jacket.”

__________

Mycroft knew his human was a caring man but watching his bonhomie fade away as Sherlock refused to rouse made his heart ache. When his brother’s eyes finally fluttered open and he coughed softly as if to rid his lungs of cobwebs, the relief the king felt was on two separate fronts.

“This is a pauper’s bed.”

“And hello to you, miserable bastard. You’re lucky your brother didn’t leave you lying on the floor where your seagull chums could have strolled in and had a peck or two at your stringy flesh.”

Sherlock’s rude noise was higher in pitch than Greg expected, but acted as good evidence the young Visitor had his sense of humor in fine working order. Which was good since his ears had also heard the sound of a vehicle rolling up to the cottage.

“Now, want to sit up a bit and see if the room starts spinning?”

“Why would I begin to contemplate such a thing?”

“Alright, then lay there like a beached cod while… oh, hello John.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, then rolled them in the direction both Mycroft and Greg were looking. The one that held the doorway in which John was standing staring at the figure in the bed.

“Ah, Doctor Watson. Your timing is most felicitous. Sherlock requires a medical examination and you are suitably qualified to perform it. For reasons of continued eyesight, however, I would ask it not be an examination that requires he be nude.”

The long string of Visitor language that erupted from Sherlock’s mouth gave John both the time to recover from his initial shock and gain another portion when Sherlock grabbed the pillow from beneath his head and gave his brother a forceful smack.

“WHAT! He’s… shit, Sherlock’s here. I’m not imagining things. This is… this isn’t good, is it? Can’t be, can it? Can it? Sherlock why are you here? How are you here? Is it good you’re here? Why aren’t you answering me?”

Sherlock hurled his pillow at John’s face and the doctor caught it, laughing a bit hysterically and holding it tightly to his chest.

“We have not learned the purpose or mechanism of my brother’s arrival, John, however, the opportunity now seems to present itself. Sherlock, do begin orating your tale. We did promise Doctor Watson a measure of entertainment, so deliver an inspired performance.”

Sherlock snorted loudly, but sat up to lean against the headboard, accepted the glass of water Greg handed to him and took a long sip before speaking.

“It is a simple matter. I had collected sufficient data to attempt opening a portal at this precise location. My instruments indicated the test was successful, so I used the opportunity to step through to begin the process of recreating the necessary conditions on this side to permit a return trip.”

Greg cut eyes at Mycroft who gave a small nod indicating he gleaned the most important part of the short speech.

“Meaning you can’t return now. Sherlock, I appreciate you wanting to help your brother get home, but that’s… that’s just daft. You don’t have any of your tools and things here!”

“Incorrect.”

Sherlock pointed to Mycroft’s closet, which spurred the king to step over and check inside, sighing as he did so.

“Your harassment device?”

Billy seemed to sense he was being called into action and obediently rolled into the bedroom to stand at the ready.

“My remote operation facilitator.”

“Explain.”

“I have made certain modifications so that I can direct operation of various project components remotely, including forming additional portals and passage of necessary items through it.”

“Who shall push these items? Your tiny green friend?”

“Do not disparage him! He is intelligent and dedicated to science!”

“Oh b^rLgn@Dv&ffcn!kx, that _is_ your plan.”

“The fact you lack the creativity to have envisioned it surprises me not at all.”

Greg leaned over and gave John a poke to make certain he was breathing and was rewarded with a quick swat that convinced him the doctor was still happily counted among the living.

“John’s alive. Now, Sherlock, your enlisting little Toby into your scheme maybe wasn’t quite as well thought-out as it sounded in your head, but good on you making full use of all the resources you had on hand. Let’s just hope the little bugger doesn’t toddle off and forget that he’s actually supposed to be on the job or you might be in a bit of a pickle.”

“As you so ridiculously call him, Toby, can toddle where he likes. I fitted him with a communications module so I can alert him when he is required.”

“You put a collar on your fuzzball? Ok, that’s good. Shows forward thinking. Mycroft don’t you agree?”

Greg gave Mycroft a little ‘go on, be encouraging’ look which was met with a long, low growl but, also, a nod.

“If you properly planned and have confidence in your t$nj&lbw&^dy;lyq to do your bidding, then… I applaud your efforts.”

Greg’s smile of approval was completely ignored by Mycroft in a way that was the complete opposite of ignoring but with a full serving of ‘I am clearly ignoring you, Gregory’, as you can see’ slid in its place.

“Yes, well… we have some degree of work to do on this end, however, I believe we can fabricate the portal aperture with sufficient stability to allow safe passage for us both. Have the additional components I requested arrived?”

“No. Gregory?”

“I’ll phone Anderson right now, if you’d like.”

“Yes.”

Mycroft rose and retrieved Greg’s mobile, punching Anderson’s contact icon before handing it over to the former DI.

“You can’t quit me, can you, Greg?”

“Fuck you, Anderson. And not in a fun way. Anyway, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to know when we’re getting that shipment of gadgets Mycroft wanted. He’s getting fidgety and I don’t want him to work off his nervous energy by doing something rash like planting a flower garden or alphabetizing the spices in the cupboard.”

“How long does it take to alphabetize salt and pepper?”

“You envy my cooking skills and you know it. Now, answer the question.”

“Actually, I was going to pack them up this afternoon. I should be able to get them posted tomorrow or the next day.”

“What about today?”

“In a rush?”

“Flower gardens, Anderson. The danger is real. You know what I can do to a plant. You’ve seen the evidence. It’s not pretty.”

“You did send a plastic fern to its death, so I credit the point. I could probably do it today. Should I ask if you want it shipped the expensive way?”

“You should not. I’ll reimburse you the cost, but we’d like to see it as soon as possible.”

“I’ll get on it, then. And add in a bit of extra for myself because there’s a great pub on my way that will be lovely to while away an hour or two after I throw your rubbish into the bin, I mean carefully deliver it to the proper people to see it safely transported to your tender, loving arms.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Philip. We really appreciate it.”

“Anytime. Let me dash, then, so I deserve that appreciation. Chat soon?”

“Yeah, sooner than later.”

Greg disconnected and waggled the phone to signal his success, earning him a nod from Sherlock.

“Tomorrow, I take it?”

“If Anderson can get it posted in time. If not, the next day. Sooner than we expected, lad, so that’s a victory.”

“That will have to do. There may be enough materials on hand to begin with some useful task.”

“How long?”

John surprised himself with his small outburst, but made a very ineffective throat-clearing distraction noise to further draw attention to himself in the time honored manner of outbursters throughout history.

“To build the necessary apparatus? That is dependent on what supplies we have now, what are delivered and what additional pieces might be required. Not likely, though, more than… a handful of days, at most.”

John nodded a few times and cut eyes at Greg who was wincing slightly, as if enduring a nasty sting. Which was not far from the truth, in a sense.

“Ok… then, what can I do to help?”

The brittle smile on John’s lips belied his sincerity, but only to a point. In truth, the doctor knew well that there was a ticking clock over Mycroft’s head and, now, over Sherlock’s. No matter what anyone might hope or wish for, their time on this world needed to be as short as possible.

“At present, I need to thoroughly inventory the materials present and examine more closely the devices that have been constructed to date. I also need to collect additional data now that I can acquire it firsthand. And…”

Sherlock seemed at a loss for either what to say or how to say what he _did_ want to say but, to Greg, the general direction was fairly straightforward. It was the one that lay between Sherlock’s furtively-cut eyes and John’s face.

“I would think, lad, you’d like to see a bit of what you’ve been viewing on this or that screen. I’m certain John will be happy to give you a little tour of the area. I… John, can Sherlock go through the security barrier?”

“I don’t think so. It’s designed around Visitor life signs, so he’d likely be stopped, too.”

“I want to learn more about the technology.”

John grimaced at Sherlock, but only because he honestly didn’t have much information to supply.

“That’s something they don’t share with the public. Or lowly doctors. I _can_ share what I know on what it senses and what it does, what the range is and the like, but if you want technical specifications, that’s highly classified.”

“That is shamefully unhelpful, but a starting point, at least. While my equally unhelpful brother tends his human, you will assist me with my work and provide my tour. Then we will have popcorn.”

John snorted a laugh at the seriousness of Sherlock’s tone, but nodded and tossed the pillow back for, hopefully, Greg to use with a short nap. The man looked tired, which was completely understandable but with Sherlock present, his energy level would need to stay topped up to manage the chaos.

“I agree to your terms. And, if Greg and Mycroft are amenable, maybe we can have more than popcorn. Dinner, then a film? With popcorn? Might as well celebrate today’s grand arrival in the finest style available.”

Mycroft stepped closer to Greg, snarling at John and growling with a low menace.

“Gregory will not be stressed by toiling to prepare a large meal.”

Sherlock stepped closer to John, snarling at Mycroft and growling with a low menace.

“Do not threaten John.”

If nothing else, the sociological lessons being learned from these two brothers was worth putting up with their nonsense. Greg gave John the nod that clearly stated they’d share notes later when the territorial bastards weren’t present to shout and deny everything.

“I WAGER that if it’s several pairs of hands working, nobody will be overtaxed by the meal-preparation tasks, right John?”

“I’d say that’s the case. Happy little joint effort always makes the meal more delicious, anyway.”

“That is a lie. The food tastes no different if Gregory prepares it or if I provide assistance.”

Mycroft was always one to get straight to the heart of things.

“That’s kind of you to say, Mycroft, but I’ve noticed food tastes better when you give me a hand. Could be my imagination, but I like to think it’s your keen eye for quality that makes the difference.”

“If anyone is better credentialed for evaluating food than Mycroft, I… no, I cannot even comprehend that scenario.”

Greg thought about tossing his pillow, but decided it was too fluffy to let go of at the moment. A nap was sounding good, but he couldn’t miss a minute of this! There was too much fun to be had and not a lot of time to enjoy it.

“You’re evil, Sherlock. John, want to take him to exorcise his evil while I reward Mycroft for his culinary expertise and lack of evil?”

John saluted smartly, then took Sherlock by the arm and marched him out of the bedroom to make a start on the business part of Sherlock’s agenda. The faster that was done, the sooner they could get to the fun part of the day and, given there was a limited time available to have that fun, he planned on making the most of it.

“Your brother is a unique lad, Mycroft. A good one, at heart, but certainly unique.”

“True. Should we… talk?”

“About?”

“The timeframe for my departure seems to have shortened rather dramatically.”

“Oh. That. Nope. At least not on my part. I’m not certain there’s anything to say, in any case. We knew it was coming, so a few days more or less isn’t really a large change of plan. We can talk a bit later, though, maybe when… if… we go to bed tonight.”

“We will, Gregory. I enjoy sleeping with you and will not waste an opportunity that presents itself.”

“Yes! Then, let’s plan for that. Give Sherlock what help he needs, then lend a hand with dinner? We’ll have a relaxing evening, bit of socializing, then leave the younger set to do as they please while we do as _we_ please behind closed doors.”

“I approve of that plan. It is thorough and well thought-out.”

“Thank you! Once in awhile, a great while, mind you, I can muster a credible plan.”

“Will you rest, though, for now? I shall see that progress is made on the portal but I feel you will be better served taking some rest than watching us work.”

“I… alright. I’ll have a short nap, but just a short one. It’ll be like when I was young and wanted to watch something on the telly that would run late. Mum made me have a nap so I could actually watch it and not bend her ear with complaints the next day because I fell asleep halfway through.”

“Very well. Let us see you comfortable in your own bed.”

“That would be nice. It really is hot on your world, isn’t it? You’d best find something for Sherlock to wear because I suspect he’ll be feeling the cold soon.”

“And that is a litany of complaints we do not need to hear.”

“They’d be worse than from me missing my telly programme.”

“My leaps and bounds.”

__________

No, he wasn’t ogling. That wasn’t what a respectable doctor did. He was… admiring. That was an entirely different thing altogether.

Sherlock was flying. He’d seen Mycroft do it so there shouldn’t be much of a surprise to be found with Sherlock doing it but… it was worlds different. Completely different styles of maneuvering in the air, making that air lift him, support him as he flew, testing the boundaries of the containment perimeter. And, yes, his wings were definitely shaped differently than his brother’s. Mycroft… was designed for power. Sherlock for agility. It was a something his doctor self was noting and doing what he could to make notes that would remind him of all of this, though nobody could ever see them, so he had to couch it all as a fictional narrative. Imagining what another visitor would be like based, of course, on previously-documented accounts and his own first-hand experience with Mycroft.

His colleagues would probably accuse him, laughingly, of writing Visitor fanfiction, but he was alright with that. That was an enormous community and a lot of amazing writers rose from those ranks. He’d have the best account of a visitor in flight, though. And of what their body actually looked like when it moved. How the muscles, so similar to a human’s, had intriguing differences that made them unique and…

No, he was not going to venture into the areas of exotic. Or sexy. That was completely inappropriate and his brain could sod off from that tangent right here and now. It was a medical admiration of the way Sherlock’s muscles rippled and his body moved during flight. Or walked. Losing that loose shirt certainly did not cause any unseemly lip-licking by anyone who might have been present to see it. Not at all. Nope.

“Like what you see, John?”

Greg. The bastard.

“Greg. You’re a bastard.”

“So I’m told. Often. It’s a thing to see, though, isn’t it? Watching them fly. It’s strange how many films and such show Visitors or other people flying and it both does and doesn’t at all look like the real thing.”

“True. Sherlock’s trying to learn what he can about the field around the cottage. I don’t think he’ll learn much, but he seems to be enjoying himself, at least.”

“You never know, I suppose. What they can detect or can fathom out that we can’t… maybe he can learn more than we think. I wonder if we could do that on their world? Have abilities that they don’t so we get an edge for certain things.”

“Why do I suspect the answer to that is no?”

“Because that’s our luck in a nutshell. You should ask Sherlock, though. He might know of something. It’s not information you could use, but… one day, maybe, there will be some actual interaction between our worlds. That more people know about than us, I mean. Probably won’t happen in our lifetime, certainly not mine, but it could be like one of those books where they find a musty old tome in a forgotten library that was written in secret and contains knowledge that’s suddenly relevant and useful to a huge and elaborate mystery.”

“You’re been reading too much fiction.”

“That’s not possible, but it’s entertaining to think about.”

“True. Sherlock tells me, nonstop, that he’s a genius. Maybe he can actually convince his brother to do something to bring our people closer together and we don’t have to wait for a musty old tome to fall off a shelf.”

“Us getting closer to other people doesn’t have a history of going well for the people we decide to pay a little visit.”

“That’s not all of Earth’s people. Just… more than makes for a happy history. I suspect, though, that Mycroft’s people could kick our arses in a fight.”

“I wonder about that, too. We’ve never talked in depth about it, but their technology seems a lot more advanced than ours. What they can do for weaponry if they had a need is probably pretty fucking frightening.”

“And Mycroft, at least, seems willing to use it.”

“He’s a warrior king. Can’t expect anything else.”

“You still want a photo of that portrait, don’t you.”

“You can’t make me confess, filthy copper.”

“That’s you.”

“Oh yeah. You can’t make me confess, filthy physician.”

“Better. I do wish, though, Sherlock could pass along information about their medical technology. He’s made passing mention of how much better it is than ours, though it’s hard to know if he’s being serious or just boasting.”

“The former, probably.”

“Yeah. There’s so much we could learn, Greg. So very, very much…”

“One day. This time on Earth has to have had an impact on Mycroft. He knows that we’re not opening the portals, not kidnapping his people, treating them well, even if that last is also somewhat self-serving. He’s not stupid, he has to have learned that we’re not the threat he’s feared and… like I said, I won’t see it, but one day something could change.”

“Maybe. I’d like that.”

“I would, too.”

The wistful tones said a lot about how great was the want and how little they thought it would ever come to pass.

“Enough of that… how’d you sleep?”

“I had a very restful nap, thank you, despite the circles under my eyes.”

“They’re not out of the ordinary.”

“Disappointing, though. Man gets a luscious rest, he should look rested, not… tired and sick.”

There was tone in those words; tone that was pitched perfectly to set a doctor’s senses tingling.

“Something you want to talk about, Greg?”

“Nah, nothing really to say.”

“How about you’ve been lucky in life to have looks on your side and now…”

“Oof… that’s one in the gut.”

“It’s what you were thinking, though.”

“No. Yeah. Partly. I’ll die with my hair, though. That’s holding on like a champion. Once it regrew from that last set of treatments. I’d been worried, because I heard it might not grow back quite like it fell out, but it did! The Silver Fox rides again.”

“You do have nice hair. I bet Mycroft loves to nuzzle that mane of silver while he whispers all sorts of filthy and foul things in your ear.”

That finally brought a snort from the eavesdropping king, who’d not paid as much attention to where his shadow might fall as he might have ordinarily.

“Woo! Hurricane breeze just blew my silvery locks hither and yon! Oh, it’s you, Mycroft.”

This growl reached into Greg’s chest and wrapped an iron fist around his heart and lungs. In a happily cock-stiffening manner, too…

“Why are you awake? And vertical?”

“Because I stopped sleeping. And stood up.”

“John, return Gregory to bed. He did not sleep sufficiently.”

John shook his head and sighed. He actually agreed with Mycroft because Greg had only been out for an hour and a half and those dark circles said he might be having a hard time sleeping at night. However, he’d remedy that with a private conversation and some medical assistance once Mycroft was otherwise occupied. The stupid git still didn’t quite have a grip on the whole a-man-has-his-pride business.

“Greg, go to bed. Oh no, he didn’t listen. Guess it’s time for tea.”

Greg giggled and earned a ferocious snarl from Mycroft who, however, opted not to push this in his preferred direction by lifting up Greg and porting him back to bed. His human was happy at the moment and there was value in that. As long, of course, as it was not overly energetic. Or ridiculous.

“I’m on it! Proper cuppa is just the thing to warm the bones on a breezy afternoon. Evening. It’s going to be chilling quickly once the sun’s fully down, so you might want to hail Sherlock before that happens. I do _not_ want to fish him out of the sea because his wings iced up.”

Greg was not expecting Mycroft to pull off his shirt and jumper to launch himself into the air, but it was a welcome, and glorious, sight nonetheless.

“I wonder if he realized that little brother _would_ probably ignore the cold until it was actually a problem.”

John nodded and reminded himself that Sherlock’s firsthand experience on this world amounted to a little over two hours, most of that spent in the cottage where it was toasty warm and hot beverages had been available on demand. Which was something Sherlock enjoyed doing in a loud and insistent fashion…

“Tea and let the brothers sort themselves out?”

“And inventory the larder. I honestly don’t know what we have in at the moment. Mycroft’s been handling the grocery order and… I’ve lost track of things.”

“I’m going to predict there’s an Ireland worth of potatoes stored away, enough butter to drown the population of Australia if melted, raw meat slabs of some form and popcorn.”

“I wonder if potatoes could grow on their world. I’d toss a sack of those seed potatoes through the portal with him if I thought there was a chance. Of course, they could become one of those invasive species you hear about that cripples the local ecosystems and, as delicious as they are, potatoes aren’t worth ecological devastation.”

“I’ll ask Sherlock. I can’t help but think that he’ll have a taste for them, too. They’re on the menu tonight, correct?”

“Along with meat slabs and butter, most likely. Bit of green veg would be nice. For health reasons.”

“Colon cleansing?”

“The concern is real.”

“When you’re old.”

“You’ll learn, John. The hard way.”

“That’s not a pun is it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

__________

“Another twelve potatoes, Sherlock?”

John heaped two enormous jacket potatoes onto Sherlock’s plate, feeling no surprise that Sherlock didn’t miss a beat dropping equally enormous quantities of butter into them in preparation for eating. Filling the oven with a chicken and as many potatoes as it could fit was proving a prudent strategy.

“They are edible, I suppose.”

“Your brother tolerates them, too. Nice of him, actually, since Greg’s rather fond of potatoes and enjoys them with meals.”

When he could keep Mycroft from stealing them off his plate, that is.

“There will be more for the next meal?”

A monster had been created.

“It’s possible! If the cooks are in a good mood, there could be potatoes galore.”

“And Cokes?”

“Ummm… usually not for breakfast, but we make our own rules here, so feel free.”

John suddenly noticed that he was speaking in a very specific manner. That manner implied he was more than a chap popping in for dinner and a film. More… someone who was here for the night, at least. And morning. It might be wise to phone the base with some excuse for hanging about the cottage because it seemed as if he was going to be loitering about until… until there wasn’t as pressing a reason to loiter anymore.

For his part, Greg was tapping Mycroft’s leg with his foot in a way that would have embarrassed him if he bothered to remember it was exactly how his mum would get his dad’s attention when they were at table and she hoped he was seeing and hearing something in the same way she was. Potatoes and Cokes aside, Sherlock was managing well and certainly seemed to fit well with a certain human doctor. Even if things went poorly, he had to hope that a peek into what could exist if you let someone through your defenses was something Sherlock carried back with him through the portal. As much as Mycroft, the lad needed to open himself to a special person and if it couldn’t be John, then someone with the same level of intellect, humor and great-heartedness. With a splash of vinegar in the piss and steel in the spine.

“Good. Then I want potatoes and Cokes. And jam.”

Greg cocked a look at Mycroft who avoided his eye and hoped there wasn’t a smear of the incriminating material on his face. He and his brother had done a rather good job of depleting the house’s jam supply today while Greg was asleep.

“We’ll see what the cupboards hold and it’ll be a surprise for everyone, I suspect, what ends up on the plate. Now, any more construction tonight or are we gifted with time to relax awhile?”

Sherlock paused the continuous motion of his fork between his plate and his face and held that pause for a reason only an older brother would recognize. The young prince was experiencing… indecision. Normally, Sherlock would fulfill his body’s demands for food then return immediately to whatever experiment or project was occupying his time. Now, however… something else was competing for that attention and the competition seemed rather well-matched.

“I will complete the final work on the d%rds&*tHcV**xplW@q while you and the elderly human cleanse my brother of the cascades of food that has spilled from his gluttonous maw and onto his person, then we shall relax.”

Greg applied his bratty brother filter and got ‘I will complete the final work on the *something something* while you and Greg help Mycroft tidy up from dinner, set up for our night’s entertainment and get comfortable with a good drink , then we shall relax.’ Good plan!

“Mycroft, you up for a night of relaxation after we do a bit of tidying and decide if we want wine or something more muscular while let our food digest?”

“With popcorn?”

“You just ate a chicken!”

“Not the entirety of the bird. Your portioning was inexcusably miserly.”

Greg looked at John, nodded, dabbed his mouth and rose regally from his seat.

“I am finished. I am now moving to set my plate in the sink. When I return, I will remove yours, King Mycroft, to take to the sink. Regardless if it’s full or empty. John, you want in on this?”

John also dabbed his mouth, rose with regal solemnity and held his plate as if preparing to offer communion.

“Yep.”

“Sherlock, Mycroft, the clock is ticking.”

The sight of two royal brothers gasping and start eating with literally inhuman speed, fighting over the remaining bread and simply using their hands to scoop butter for that bread so that it could be slathered on before the butter crock was whisked away was one that would have made Buster Keaton proud. But it all made for easier cleanup since everything on the table was now scrupulously cleaned of any edible material and, since Sherlock’s final touches on his component only required a further twenty minutes work, all four were enjoying a warm fire and glass of whisky in short order.

Which became a long order through a film, popcorn, a walk outdoors for Sherlock to view the night sky, then Mycroft carrying a protesting Greg to bed because he was already having to nearly carry him for three-quarters of their walk and it was becoming ludicrous.

Which left Sherlock and John alone in the tiny sitting room, gazing at the dying fire, having another glass of whisky and, for Sherlock, a packet of chocolate digestives.

“That’s a day and a half. Well, Sherlock, what say you now about our little mudball?”

“It’s hideous.”

“I expected no less!”

“But… there are elements that are not wholly hideous. Surprisingly.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve got a few positives on the ledger. It’s certainly nothing like your world, but we find joy and beauty where we can. Nature, people, art, music… we do our best.”

“Music?”

“I can almost guarantee you’d hate the majority of it. Mycroft’s found some he enjoys, though, so you’d probably hear a piece or two to your liking. What’s music like on your world?”

“It is like music.”

“That is utterly meaningless and you know it.”

“I do not. Our use of the word mirrors yours, so it is fully descriptive.”

“Ok… but there’s lots of types of music, not a single one. Same for you?”

“Yes, there are various styles.”

“Then hum something for me.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to hear something! What’s your favorite song?”

“That is a difficult question to answer.”

“Fair. I’d have difficulty picking a single song as a favorite. One of your favorites, then. Give me a bit of it so I have an idea of things.”

Sherlock glanced at John with what the doctor could only call hesitancy, then sighed and set down his whisky.

In the next moment, John heard the room fill with a sound that reminded him of a string quartet playing a sprightly tune that seemed to require Sherlock’s concentration though his lips were only slightly parted. The song continued for several minutes with John fully transfixed by the complexity and interconnectedness of the different sounds, as well as the unbelievable beauty of what he was hearing. It was honestly heartbreaking when the sound faded away and Sherlock cut questioning eyes at his audience of one as if fearful of the judgement.

“That was… brilliant.”

“Really?”

“I’ve never heard the like and I feel much poorer for it.”

“Oh… that is… kind of you to say.”

“I have no idea how you did that, but it was a glorious thing and… do you sing often? Can all of your people do that? I’ve never heard Greg mention Mycroft doing anything that spectacular.”

“It is a talent some of us possess. All, really, but without practice and genuine facility for the skill, the result is lackluster.”

“Like us, I suppose. Almost everyone can sing or even learn to play an instrument, but only a lucky few have honest talent for it and the motivation to work at developing that talent into something noteworthy. I’m glad you’ve done that, though, because… I don’t have a lot of time to enjoy it, but I hope that’s not the last time I’ll hear you before you… you know.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah.”

“That upsets you.”

“I’m not looking forward to it, no. It would be one thing if you could maintain communication, but that can’t happen, so … yes, it’s not something that fills me with gladness.”

“I… cannot stay.”

“I know. Please don’t think I was asking that, because I wouldn’t. I know better than most what will happen. You’ve got a short time here, unfortunately, and Mycroft’s time is shorter still. Time to get you home.”

“If I had the opportunity, I would investigate this problem. It is more likely that a solution could be found if I took charge of the situation than allowing your substandard science to muddle through unsupervised.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. Maybe you can get Mycroft to change his mind about communication. Or… no. I was going to say return for visits, but we have no idea if the timeclock for your people would get reset when you come back through a portal. We have no knowledge of what changes or how it causes you to… disintegrate… so, there we have it. I feel for the humans on your world, though. Do you think your work will make it possible to return them here?”

“I do not know. The point you raise for our people returning here is valid for the humans on my world returning. Would the timeclock they endure stop running or continue on? Would matters worsen? For them, however, years of life are enjoyed, though with declining health. For some, they linger for two of your decades or more, though their final years are marked with substantial infirmity. And…”

“Yes?”

“They build lives. We assist with that. I will credit my brother with this one thing – he has ensured that humans entering our world during his reign are supported until they have the foundation of a new life under them. Productive work, a home, medical care… they develop friendships and even find love. I am not wholly certain they would abandon their new lives to return here even if it was offered.”

“They may have left those things behind when they fell through the portal initially.”

“True. It has not been an issue of much contemplation since that option has never presented. I would be more focused upon new arrivals, but… returning them after what they have witnessed…”

“Back to secrecy and security.”

“And their reception when they return. How do people fare when they claim they were taken to an alien world?”

“Uhhh… not good. But, we do know your people come here, so they may receive a better response to their claims than you imagine.”

“A point to consider.”

“Will your brother consider it?”

Sherlock huffed out a long breath that served as John’s answer.

“Oh well, maybe one day. He knows more now; has seen and learned. Come to understand better who we are. It may make a difference.”

“I think he more will try to put this experience far into the deep recesses of his mind and retain only select portions for periodic reflection.”

“Run away and hide?”

“In a sense. When he returns, he will have to explain his sparse appearances, replace his grip on his court, attend to the matters that have accumulated during his absence, continue on afterwards with his typical pattern of work which, even I will concede, is grueling. He _will_ remember his human and what they shared. He will cherish and honor that memory. However, given he cannot recover their affection even if he opened wide our gates, given the incipient death of his love, I do not envision him putting issues of this world and its people as a high priority beyond establishing a protocol and methodology for returning our people home when they are transported to this place.”

It wasn’t the answer John wanted to hear, but it was the one he’d rather, unfortunately, expected.

“I understand. I have to say, though, it would be nice to walk on one of your beaches.”

“You enjoyed viewing them, I take it.”

“Oh yes. That’s… do you think you… no. No, it’s not right for me to ask.”

“What?”

“I was wondering… maybe I could come back with you. Only for a brief visit. Just long enough to really experience your world. Use more senses than my eyes to truly experience what it’s like to be there. I… it’s probably not even possible, though.”

“That… I doubt my brother would permit it.”

“Why not? It’s not as if the secrecy and security issue is still in play.”

“That is true. More importantly, though… I am not sure you would successfully make the journey.”

“Why not? You said humans had gone through portals before. We were just talking about it.”

“Those are natural. The one I created is not. It was… difficult. There was… it was not a pleasant or easy experience. I say that as one with my people’s constitution which exceeds your own. I cannot guarantee that you would fare well in the attempt. It is certain Mycroft’s human would not. He would not survive for an instant.”

“I’m fit. And former military. I was trained to handle pain, stress… endurance was a specialty.”

“It is too dangerous. I… I would not be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.”

It was true. The gravity of those words hung like a darkness in Sherlock’s already black eyes and if Sherlock never said another word about how he felt towards John, the good doctor would know with certainty where Sherlock’s emotions lay.

“I understand, too, I really do. It was just a thought. A wish, perhaps, is a better word, but I know you wouldn’t say no if you honestly didn’t believe the risks outweighed the wishes.”

“Thank you. Shall I… would you enjoy hearing another song? I will pour more alcohol for you, as well.”

It was an awkward attempt at spirits bolstering, or changing the subject, but John had never heard a more successful one in his life.

“Whisky and a song? That is a night out people pay good money for. I’d love both, thank you very much. And then… if you’re willing to compromise on the heat, there’s a free bedroom. I’ll be ready for bed and I suspect you could use rest, too.”

“Oh. Yes. That is a very good suggestion. Here, have alcohol. I shall regale you with a song that is most appropriate for a restful night and then we will go to the bedroom. Together. How much alcohol do you require?”

Making a ‘two fingers’ sign that Sherlock didn’t understand, John then put one finger along the glass to indicate the level of liquid courage he wanted dispensed and settled in to let that courage sink deeply into his bones. Yes, he had a long and slightly shameful history of on-short-acquaintance relationships of a sexual nature, but this one was… different. Very different. For more than one reason! But he was ready for it. Ready and eager and… no, he wasn’t going to say happy because that was drippily sentimental. Even though it was true. Both the happy and the drippily sentimental parts. It was all a bit of a hullaballoo, but John Watson didn’t shirk from such things. Hullaballoo made life interesting and he was a staunch supporter of interesting when it came to life. And friendship. And romance. And other things that rode along with romance, sometimes at a very rapid pace…

__________

“John Watson. At my table. In…”

Greg laughed for a long, long time while John fumed and power-drank his tea as clear warning that retribution would be at hand and in treble the quantity.

“… those are Mycroft’s clothes! How many times did you have to turn up… everything!... to get them to fit? Not that they fit, of course, you look like a toddler trying on his dad’s gear, but at least you made it across the floor without tripping. No, I can’t say that, I didn’t see you walk. Walk a bit for me, John, so I can see if you’ve got enough turn-ups on those trousers for safety purposes.”

Spoons sting a bit when flung by an ex-Army doctor and hit a stomach shrouded only by a thin-ish and, in John’s opinion, highly-unflattering shirt.

“Thanks. I may need that bit of flesh one day and now it'll be all bruised and tender.”

“Good, you evil git. It was either this kit or go rummaging through your rubbish wardrobe for something even worse.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it, how when I drew up the initial clothing list to have laid in here, I gave myself such ugly stuff but saw Mycroft with pieces that are actually smart and tasteful. Except when being worn by a toddler, of course. Want a fresh spoon? With tea?”

“God, yes. This is my second cup and it’s nowhere near doing the trick.”

Greg abandoned all thoughts to tea making and rushed to take a seat, cradling his chin in his hands, elbows on table, to stare at John with highly-expectant eyes.

“Go on. Details. Filthier the better.”

“Sadly, or not, actually, nothing filthy to report.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I… ok, I _was_ expecting there would be. Laid the groundwork and gave him the grin when we finally crawled into bed…”

“One of _those_ grins?”

“My best! And… this is going to sound so drippy but… we cuddled.”

“Cuddled?”

“And it was the best cuddling of my whole fucking life. The enormous tit wrapped around me like a sloth or something and… do you know they sing?”

“Sloths?”

“Visitors!”

“I… academically, I suppose I would have expected them to since they talk and such, but I suspect I’m now rather in the wrong. Or right, just not in the way I thought.”

“Sherlock can sing like you would not believe, not for love nor money. So there I was, all snuggled and with a lullaby…”

“You fell asleep.”

“You would have, too! It was cozy and perfect and Sherlock smells wonderful…”

“And they’re brilliantly warm.”

“Imagine being out in the snow all day and coming home to be wrapped in that heat.”

“Delicious. Almost as delicious as a potato.”

Greg smiled upwards to what he suspected would be a snarling face staring down at him, since he’d heard a characteristic footstep coming up towards and through the cottage door.

“I am not a potato.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said you were as delicious as one. Do you actually want to walk away from that high a compliment?”

“No. It is an incontrovertible fact and denying it serves no purpose. You are needed outside, John. Go.”

“I haven’t had enough tea for whatever Sherlock has going out there.”

“He is trying to catch fish to study. And he is naked.”

John’s vapor trail was a model for cartoon animators to study and Mycroft was only slightly an arse dusting off the seat John had vacated before taking it as his own.

“Is that true?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

“No. Sherlock has already caught his fish, so is no longer trying.”

“Wonderful. Does this mean fish on the menu today?”

“Perhaps. Currently, they remain alive in a makeshift pool. If he chooses to examine them internally, I have mandated he must do so in a way that preserves the flesh for eating. I do not permit the killing of things for sport or for satisfying curiosity.”

“That’s good. Truly, I’m glad to hear that. In any case, now that John’s off ogling naked Sherlock, I have to ask _why_ you directed him out to ogle naked Sherlock. Was it for his benefit or yours?”

“Ah, that shall remain a happy mystery. I desire tea. I will accept what John was preparing to consume if it is hot.”

“I hadn’t made it yet, so I’ll do two and we can chat about why you’re smirking.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

“That I do. What is your opinion of John?”

“Is that a serious question? I only ask because you already know the answer and nothing has happened to change it.”

“Merely confirming the issue.”

Greg narrowed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at the new smirk he received in return.

“What were you two talking about out there? Sherlock dragged you outdoors even before fuck o’clock this morning, so I’m now officially suspicious.”

“You are suspicious by nature so this changes nothing. However, to answer your question, we were discussing the work we must do to complete the portal controls on this side and… I was answering questions about John.”

“Oh… little Sherlock wanted the inside story, did he?”

“More testing that his instincts were correct. This is not his area, not in the slightest, and I was surprised he was sufficiently interested to put his uncertainty about his perceptions on display.”

“Well… it’s not uncommon to question your thinking when you’re growing closer to a person. And, since they did have a snuggly night complete with Sherlock singing a lullaby, I’d say growing closer is a bit of an understatement.”

“Sherlock… sang?”

“Yep. Why haven’t you ever sung for me? Not got a musical voice?”

“My voice is most melodic, however… Sherlock's song is exceptional. He rarely, though, sings for anyone besides Mummy and our head housekeeper. That he felt sufficiently comfortable with John is notable.”

“Think… that’ll make you change your mind about them staying in contact?”

“No. I do regret it, Gregory, especially knowing how attached Sherlock is becoming to John, however, I cannot allow the risk. As it stands, I am already concerned about the number of transmissions we have initiated and Sherlock’s opening of a portal. At some point your military must notice something amiss and take steps to investigate. The longer such continues, the more likely that investigation will occur.”

“It was worth asking. I checked the tracking on Anderson’s package. Everything looks to be on schedule.”

“And the military will deliver it quickly when it arrives?”

“We have a grocery order scheduled for this afternoon, so I anticipate they’ll send it along with that.”

“Good. And…”

“Potatoes, Cokes, jam and enough other things to feed an army. How many farmers does your world have, anyway? It’s got to be a lot what with the amount you eat.”

“Tea?”

Greg laughed and doffed an imaginary cap before rising and going through the familiar routine of tea making. It was a comforting and time-honored thing and that Mycroft took his over-sugared tea and downed it in a gulp was positively barbaric.

“That’s terrible.”

“Incorrect. It was palatable, although, somewhat weak. Now, I will return to draw Sherlock’s attention back to the actual tasks at hand.”

“I’ll come, too.”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“The wind is piercing and you are not in fit state to suffer its bite.”

Greg bit his lip and shoved down the flash of irritation at being ordered about.

“I am and I want to play with the fishies.”

“I will bring a fish for you to play with. Would you like it in the sink or toilet?”

“I want to smell the sea air, feel the bitey wind and look out over the wildness of the sea like an old sea-farer.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to sit in here alone while the rest of you are having fun and enjoying the day together. It’s not… I’m not going to wait here alone. I don’t want to, alright?”

Mycroft started to protest, then relented, hearing a tone in Greg’s voice that he wasn’t sure even Greg realized underscored his words.

“Very well. But we must dress you properly and it will not be for a prolonged period.”

“I’ll take it. Get me sorted while I finish my tea.”

“I require toast.”

“I’ll also make toast while you get me sorted.”

“Agreeable. But you must consent to wear a hat.”

“Why would I not consent to that?”

“Because you must wear the one you despise.”

“Why? It’s hideous and too big for my head.”

“Sherlock set your preferred one ablaze to investigate if the colors your natural fibers burned is the same as for ours.”

“He set my hat on fire.”

“Yes.”

“Your brother is a menace.”

“True but, for the moment, direct your complaints to John. Sherlock shall be his menace to manage.”

“I’m sure John will be delighted to hear that.”

“Yes, so do not tarry unduly before notifying him.”

__________

Greg hated that he got cold very quickly, even with the layers of clothing Mycroft had insisted he wear, and had to return into the cottage to spend the next few hours while the others were playing with sea life, collecting rocks, arguing, drawing things in the sand and a host of other activities that only paused for an envoy to be sent to collect provisions. By the time it was officially the lunch hour, Greg simply made a large platter of sandwiches, tossed on a few large packets of crisps and set it on the stoop whistling loudly to catch John’s attention.

“Ooh, thanks. How are you, Greg? Warmed up?”

“Very warm, thank you. And finished my book, which was a benefit. Now, I’m ready to come out and play again if you’re doing something interesting.”

“They’re triangulating… things. I lost the plot an hour ago. Half the time they’re speaking their language and the other half I still don’t know what they’re going on about. I found a bottle, though. Nice one.”

Greg shook his head and waved John off to take away the food, choosing himself to remain indoors and watch from the window. Fine, they were working and John could keep up with it all, lost plot or not. He wouldn’t need naps or have a hard time walking up and down the path to the water because his body was still reminding him of how much abuse it had taken lately. In addition to the abuse that cancer had visited on it in the longer term.

He was tired. Not nap tired, but mentally tired. And watching them out there, having a strange, but enjoyable time, made him more tired. Greg Lestrade was not going to waste time whinging about things, though. Far smarter to use the time to enjoy something foolish and pointless on the telly. The new telly. Which he had forbade Mycroft from disassembling for any reason whatsoever. A man had to have something to keep him company on bitey-breezy days and a high-definition television made for very, very good company indeed…

__________

“Well… that’s a thing…”

Greg walked around the console standing in the middle of the floor and didn’t even try to hide his admiration. The delivery they’d expected arrived exactly on time and had Mycroft and Sherlock leaping to start unpacking and inspecting the bits and pieces Anderson had gathered. That instigated a nonstop work session that went through the night, with much swearing and much more shouting before Sherlock announced it was time for a test. Which required waking up both Greg and John so his announcement had more of a sense of occasion.

“It is more than a ‘thing,’ human. It is the result of a genius overcoming the severe restrictions of a technologically-limited world.”

“Ok, Sherlock, it’s that, then. So… what are you going to do?”

“First, we make an attempt to open a stable… mostly stable… portal and evaluate the transport of an object. Based on its structural integrity upon arrival in my workspace, I can evaluate the safety for other materials.”

“Like you.”

“I am made of materials, yes.”

“True. Mycroft… you have anything to add?”

Because you’ve been very quiet today and that’s worrying.

“No, not particularly. If the test goes as planned… we will be ready to depart.”

“Wait… when?”

“As soon as… we can affect our farewells.”

“What?”

Greg blinked as if he’d been slapped and John didn’t look a great deal better.

“We must time our departure to coincide with certain variables and this morning is an excellent window of opportunity. Sherlock estimates the next window with nearly the same possibility of success will not occur for five days. My absence has been somewhat concealed due to Sherlock’s actions and strategic planting of stories in pliant ears. However, with both of us gone… much can happen in five days with no family members minding the throne.”

John winced at the idea, remembering how quickly power could change hands when a vacuum formed.

“He’s right, Greg. If they have the chance today, they should take it.”

The fact John couldn’t look Greg in the eye after he said those words, though, was not lost on anyone in the room.

“Ok, John… ummm… first we should probably see if this even works. Before we… think about other things. Go ahead, lad, start it up. Never seen this happen before. _Is_ there something to see? Fingers crossed for a proper show…”

After Sherlock flipped the switch, Greg had his answer in the form of a slightly out-of-focus area a few steps from where he was standing. If he hadn’t known it was there, hadn’t been paying attention, it would have been easy to walk right into it. How people got snared by these suddenly became clear.

“Oh… that’s not what I was expecting.”

Feeling warm arms around him, Greg leaned back into the warmth and committed everything about the sensation to memory.

“It _is_ rather disappointing, is it not? Such a lackluster presentation for such a formidable phenomenon.”

Mycroft’s voice was slightly teasing, but his arms wrapped more tightly around Greg and he laid a gentle kiss on Greg’s temple, lingering a moment to nuzzle the cooler skin.

“How are you going to check it? Is Billy going to give a thumb’s up if what you throw comes through intact?”

“Billy lacks appendages, but I believe Sherlock has instruments ready to provide relevant data. Brother? Are you ready?”

Without a word, Sherlock tossed a potato through the portal where it simply winked out of view though the portal remained in place, seemingly unchanged, which piqued John’s curiosity.

“Does that mean the portal is stable, Sherlock?”

“That is my belief, yes. At least for the time when the conditions are optimal for it to retain this stability.”

“And, how’s the potato?”

Sherlock turned to the console and peered through Billy’s hoop at his workspace.

“Toby is eating the potato.”

John rushed forward and stared at the little green fluffball merrily consuming what did appear to be an intact potato.

“It’s safe for him, right? Not going to poison the little fellow, will it?”

“If it is safe for me, it should be safe for him. And… that is excellent evidence that the potato was not fundamentally altered by the transport. Simply… it does look a bit… cooked.”

“Still hard, though. He’s having a time chewing through and it’s not a large one.”

“So… heated for surface temperature rise but not internal. Again, excellent if surprising evidence. Very much what I hoped to observe. One moment…”

Sherlock turned back to various readouts on what was their old television screen and Greg’s former tablet, muttering to himself while he scrolled through information in what must have been the Visitor’s written language which John had never seen record of before. Another first he could claim in his never-to-be-written account of this experience.

“Well, brother? What say you?”

Mycroft had yet to remove his arms from Greg, so Greg could feel the tensing of his muscles as he asked the question.

“I see nothing here that is troubling. The readings are in line with what I marked before I came through myself to this side.”

“Then, we go. Take… take a moment to prepare yourself.”

Which each royal brother achieved by pulling away their human for a private conversation, while Sherlock directed Billy to return home and await their arrival.

“Gregory… I have no idea what to say to you.”

“Goodbye. That’s about all, I suppose.”

Greg’s brain felt wrong. It felt stuck or blind or something indescribable because it was refusing to let the reality of the situation sink in with finality. It was as if it was standing in wait for the punchline to a joke, knowing it would come soon and give him a hearty laugh.

“No, that is not all. I cannot ever express what this time has meant to me, Gregory. What you have meant to me. My beliefs, expectations, assumptions… all shattered. You matter to me, human. For nobody else can I say that with the conviction of my whole heart and mind. I simply wish we had more time so that I could let you truly know the depth of this feeling.”

“I do, too. I… you matter to me, too, Mycroft. In my heart, mind and soul, you matter to me. Our time together was short, but it would have been in any case. I’m glad, in a way, it’s your time to leave. Go now with the good memories. The good times are the ones you’ll take with you and not… what will come later. John’ll have to deal with that bit, but the little fucker deserves it, so I’m not upset about it in the least.”

Mycroft huffed out a laugh and drew Greg to him, kissing him softly on the lips, then simply holding him close until he heard an interrupting cough from behind him.

“Ah, brother. Is it time?”

“The conditions will only worsen if we wait.”

“Very well. Gregory… my sk*ndlV^y@Bcc&d’kg, I will miss you. And I will never, for a moment forget you.”

Greg tried to speak, but could only choke on his words and finally resigned himself to nodding, and giving his fingers a kiss that he laid on Mycroft’s cheek. With a heavy shine forming in his black eyes, Mycroft said not a word but turned and stepped through the portal vanishing in the blink of an eye.

“It is my turn, now. Human, you… were good to my brother. Good _for_ him. I wish you happiness for your remaining time and want you to know that he was sincere – he will _not_ forget you.”

Turning to John, Sherlock took his hand and gave it a kiss. Nodding slightly, John turned his own watery eyes to Greg and smiled.

“Greg… I’m sorry.”

Without hesitating, both Sherlock and John jumped through the portal and, after a few seconds, it vanished.

Leaving Greg standing alone in the cottage. Where, apparently, he would remain alone for some time to come…


	33. Chapter 33

No. No, that did not just happen. John didn’t… of course he didn’t! Not for long, at least. Mycroft is going to be off his nut when he finds out, but good for John taking the chance to have a real look at their world and do a bit of sightseeing. Maybe have a chance to do more with Sherlock than cuddle, too. That’s the ticket! Have a bit of a holiday, then come back here and get on with things.

_ Greg… I’m sorry. _

Sorry for me not being able to go. That’s it! Of course he’d be. Sort of a kick in the arse, having an amazing holiday like that knowing I can’t go, too, but what an opportunity. Not certain I could turn down a chance like that. He’ll owe me for it, though. I’m not buying a single bottle of scotch after this nonsense. Not that I buy it in any case but now, with Mycroft… gone… we can stop in at whatever the locals have for a pub and that holiday-making bastard will stand all my rounds.

_ He works for the military. They’d sack him for going off on an unscheduled holiday with no notice whatsoever. He knows that. _

No… he’s a contractor, not in the ranks anymore. The rules are different. It’s a bit shite he didn’t let anyone know but they have other medical personnel besides John. Yeah, it’s not the end of the world, though I doubt they’ll be too happy with him when he returns. Besides, the stuff is still here! Mycroft said they couldn’t leave any of their devices here, but there’s a fuck all big gadget in the middle of the room and… why’s it smoking? And… fizzling…

Greg watched in growing resignation as the entire apparatus fractured into a billion microscopic bits and landed as a mound of dust on the floor. It was joined by several other dust piles that represented former devices Mycroft and Sherlock had constructed. It was doubtful even a genie could grant a wish to make those piles of fine, grey dust into working equipment once again.

So… it was over. All of it. John wasn’t coming back. Mycroft wasn’t coming back. It was just him now.

Not that it was anything other than he’d known would happen. He knew he’d be alone at the end. Everybody was. But he didn’t think he’d be _alone_ in that aloneness. Or be alone because he’d been… left behind.

And… oh no. He had to _explain_ all of this. Fuck… not only did they leave him here alone, they left him here to clean up their mess. Bastards. Fucking, fucking bastards.

Greg looked around the cottage. Took a step forward then stopped, quivering and balling his fists tightly. He took another step, then whirled around and stormed outside, marching towards the woodpile and proceeded to take each log and throw it as hard and as far as he could. Log after log went flying, gradually landing closer and closer until Greg didn’t have the strength to do more than watch them fall at his feet as the tears fell hot and salty down his cheeks and he dropped onto the ground in despair letting the ground soak up the tears he shed for the loss and for the future to come.

By the time Greg pulled himself upright, the sun was high in the sky, but he didn’t feel the warmth. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel warm again, but lying there wasn’t getting done what needed to be done. And quickly. He needed his mobile…

__________

“I… I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Dear god… John was just talking to me about coming to London. We chatted just the other day and... he asked about this! John talked about this very thing and… I can’t believe it. I simply cannot believe it.”

The rancid bitterness of the lie sat on Greg’s tongue and if there was anything but Coke in easy reach, he would have taken a long drink to wash away the taste.

“I don’t want to either, Mike, but… Mycroft’s gone and John with him. The stupid berks took out the boat so Mycroft could explore the deeper water and John could fish. One moment they were there and the next… they weren’t.”

And, of course, he’d now have to take the boat out, scuttle it _and_ swim back to shore, but the only other story he could think of to explain the disappearance without an noticeable loss of cottage or grounds was Mycroft took John on a flight and that was too ridiculous to believe for anyone who had actually met Mycroft in person.

“This is… how are you doing, Greg? I cannot imagine what you’re going through right now. I mean… you know it’s coming, for Mycroft, at least, but not like this. Not like this…”

“I… I don’t know who to notify. What the protocol is…”

“Nothing. You don’t have to do a thing so don’t worry on that score. I’ll take care of the necessary notifications and paperwork. In fact… what time is it… yes. I can be there by late afternoon or early evening at the latest and see to things personally.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mike.”

“I do. You and Mycroft are my patients and John was my friend. He was my good and dear friend and I recommended him for that post. The very least I can do is personally attend to this and see he’s properly sorted and honored as befitting the man he was. I’ll ask you again, though… how are you doing, Greg?”

Miserably.

“About as good as can be expected. I’m… at a loss. I don’t know what to think or feel… I’m tired and confused and… I hurt.”

Hurt like you cannot believe. At least nothing ripped open and there aren’t guts lying strewn about for the seagulls to feast on.

“Physically or otherwise?”

“Both?”

“No more than I would expect. Did… did John have his medical kit with him?”

“I… he drove here but didn’t bring one inside.”

“Check the car, it’ll likely be there. If you need paracetamol or even codeine it’ll be in there, I have little doubt, knowing John. Just go light on the codeine if you indulge. I’ll set you up with an appropriate prescription if needed going forward. I don’t know anyone at the moment ready to step into John’s shoes, so I’ll do it myself, until someone suitable is found. It should take long and I’ll make very certain they’re a good match for the program and for you, in particular.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Mike.”

“Oh, you can, believe me. But, if it soothes your conscience, it’s actually in my job description. Until you and Mycroft both are finding a new home in the universe, you are on my case ledger. John was, effectively, acting as a surrogate me. You’re my patient, Greg, and I take that responsibility seriously. Make sure you eat today and keep yourself hydrated. And… rest, Greg. This is a traumatic experience and it’s going to take a lot out of you. Rest and I’ll see you later today.”

“I… I will. Thanks, Mike.”

“You’re welcome. Take care of yourself.”

Greg smiled into the silent mobile, but it was more a social response than any feeling of joy. It was kind of Mike, though. Job aside, he was sincere about helping and good people like him made this world a gentler place. It was hard not to wonder what was happening on another world right now, though. Was Mycroft raging in fury at John being there or had he simply rolled his eyes at the situation and walked away to tend to more important matters? Was John seeing all the wonders of that world now, marveling that this was his new life? Was Mycroft… was he already inundated with battles and problems and crises and issues that would dog his heels for days, weeks, months because he hadn’t been there to handle them early on? Was he sitting now on that wretched, arse-destroying throne being barraged on all sides by people wanting his attention, constantly making demands, slithering like snakes to curry favor?

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t help. Couldn’t change a single thing, couldn’t lend a hand, offer a sympathetic ear, be a source of support. Couldn’t be a part of whatever they were all now building as John eased into a new life that would offer nothing but unique experiences that he’d share with Sherlock.

Enough. Enough self pity. Enough wallowing and wailing. First priority – clean this cottage and sink one boat. Second priority – shower, eat and rest. Third priority – exercise lying muscles so Mike continues to believe this enormous lie, and the countless others to follow, when he arrives. Fourth priority – get on with life. Just get the fuck on with life in this lovely cottage with his every want and need tended to by his accumulated years of tax payments. He didn’t have a lot of life left, admittedly, but he’d always been determined to maximize that time and there was no reason to change course now.

And… maybe some things would be easier now. Better. He didn’t have to devote as much time to The Great Escape, since that was case closed. And he could have people in to visit. London people, that is. Have a nice trip out to this beautiful land to spend a bit of time enjoying that beauty and getting the heavy air of London out of their lungs. And he could go to London! Or wherever he’d like. Do some traveling, if he chose. Without rent, food and utilities, he could certainly spare a bit of cash to take a few trips. See some new things. Time to look at the positive side of the coin. He’d lost some things. Lost a lot, actually, but he could still have a grand retirement that others could only dream of.

And, fortunately, he’d always been one to enjoy his own company. Even when that was the only company available…

__________

“Is there a reason firewood is strewn all over as if a tornado hit the woodpile?”

Greg just smiled at his just-arrived guest and hoped Mike couldn’t read anything into it besides a warm greeting.

“Mycroft had been playing with it and I haven’t had the urge to go out and do the tidying.”

“Playing with it?”

“If you think I can explain it, you’ve got more faith in me than I do.”

Mike laughed and Greg stepped aside so he could continue on into the cottage, mentally breathing a sigh of relief that the first of his many, many lies went shockingly well.

“They do have their ways, don’t they? Maybe it was exercise. They do have an impressive amount of muscle to maintain.”

“True! It was amazing, actually. He’d bring my bed outside and it was like he was lifting a doll bed.”

“Why on Earth would he put your bed outdoors?”

Shit. Details to a minimum, you stupid copper.

“First time was to be a prat. After that… it was actually relaxing to stretch fully out and enjoy a panoramic view of the sea. That thing over there is little more than a settee, so not great for giving a body the chance to experience full relaxing potential.”

“Point taken.”

Motioning Stamford to the pseudo-settee, Greg hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to keep up with the many lies and concealments piling up in his ledger, what with his brain already tired and wanting a long holiday.

“Tea for you, Mike?”

“Yes, please. It’s a nice trip out here, but tea makes even a nice trip better. And I’ve had the tea at the base. It’s… rather two steps downward from what you’d expect. Rotten stuff, but strong enough to strip paint. I’m meeting the base command staff tonight to talk about the situation and make arrangements for… well, they have John’s papers and such on file, so they’ll take charge of seeing his last wishes managed.”

“He… he have any family?”

“A sister. They weren’t close.”

“Is there… will there be a funeral?”

“A service, I think. Something to commemorate his life and achievements.”

That was good. Definitely not as horribly a weird, and expensive, a lie as an actual funeral.

“Let me know, will you? I want to attend.”

If only to sit there and spread some seething ‘you little bastard’ thoughts all over the fine flowers and pretty words. Yes, it’s petty, but he’s frolicking on a crystal beach watching sea serpents splashing about and I’m here… not doing that.

“Absolutely. Now… let’s talk about you. How are you with all of this? Not at all what you or anyone might expect when you signed up for this job and it has to be a lot to manage at the moment.”

That’s an understatement.

“It is, but I can’t say I’m not used to pressure and unexpected circumstances. Part of the job, at least the one I did for most of my life. And, I suppose I knew that actually being paired with a Visitor in the program meant that things were going to be stressful, if only because I’d be living with someone so very different from me and having to learn, again, how to actually share a home with another person. This last bit, though… it’s a lot. I won’t lie about that, it’s a lot to take in and… I don’t think it’s fully hit yet what’s happened. I still… I still expect to hear a shout for toast or a Coke or being shushed because someone is listening to a radio programme and I happened to be breathing a bit too loudly for their liking.”

Ok, Greg, that sounded exactly as if you were talking about a deceased spouse. Nicely done.

“You live with someone, especially isolated in the way you two were, they absolutely become an integral part of your environment and expectations. That’s not easy to change once it’s established. It’ll take time. You’ll find yourself starting to say something to him or thinking how he’d react to this or that thing you were about to do, planning a meal or grocery list and forgetting it’s for one now and not two. It's normal, Greg. Even though you knew each other for only a short time, it was intense time, from an emotional standpoint, and you _are_ going to feel his loss, and keenly at that, because you’re a man with a large heart.”

Is it better or worse, I wonder, if you know they’re alive but forever out of your reach? That you… loved him… but never said it. Said everything except that one stupid word. But Mycroft knew. It was there in those last days, in that terrible, wonderful final moment. He knew. And… maybe it was just a bit of self-delusion, but it seemed that big red evil bastard returned that love, too.

“Or a soft head. But, it is what it is and now it’s a matter of looking forward. I was thinking about inviting a few people up to visit. That should be easier now since… the security piece is a bit nonessential now, isn’t it?”

“For the most part, yes. The security measures will stay in place for the containment field and such and the military will continue to keep an eye on the property, as well as you, but with the same intent as your local constable. You are out here alone and you never know when some nasty piece of work with or without their stupid mates, come looking for a bit of fun. But, yes, for all intents and purposes you’re just another citizen living freely in a cozy cottage. Go out, have people in, whatever you like. I’d advise, however, notifying the base about visitors or if you’re planning to be away a few days, so they’re not caught unawares if a situation arises.”

“Good idea. And I was thinking about taking a short trip or two. Nothing elaborate but try somewhere new I haven’t seen before.”

“Sounds wonderful! And that reminds me to have a vehicle delivered for your use. No, close your mouth before you say something daft. It’ll simply be one of the staff vehicles they keep at the base and they’re always an extra or two lying about for longer term use by visiting personnel or the occasional civilian. Again, it’s something you’re entitled to, so it’s not a tremendous favor or burden.”

“Ok, that’s good to know. And a vehicle _would_ be nice. I haven’t really seen the village or much beyond the cottage area and I’d like to visit London at least once more. Maybe do something special, like see a show. I never did much of that when I lived there, far too busy most often, and it’d be nice to have the chance to give myself a night out and know my mobile won’t ring in the middle of it and pull me away for a case.”

While sipping his tea and having their genial chat, Stamford had been keeping a very close eye on Greg and wasn’t entirely surprised the light words weren’t wholly supported by Greg’s overall demeanor. It wasn’t a surprise at all, actually, but it was good to hear his patient had intention, hopefully genuine, to make best use of the time he had left. Which he might as well bring out into the open.

“Excellent. And, based on your most recent test results, you should have the time to enjoy all of that. Nothing to indicate any acceleration or unusual turn of events, so I’d say you can feel confident that if you make a start soon, none of that is out of the question for you.”

“Oh… that’s good to hear, actually.”

Some positive news today, at least.

“Part of my meeting tonight will address your medical care going forward. Still along the guidelines of what is laid out in your contract, so don’t worry you’ll be cast adrift there either.”

“Still my decision on what I want, right?”

Because I’ve now got a big hunk of red flesh welded to me and I haven’t begun to fathom out how to explain that yet.

“Absolutely! You are in command, Detective Inspector. Enjoy it.”

“Up until the point I actually have to blame myself for something then I’ll run away from that like my trousers are on fire.”

“Spoken like our finest leaders in government. Now, while I’m here, would you like me to help you gather up Mycroft’s things? They’ll be donated to charity; don’t worry they’ll just be tipped into a skip.”

“Oh… I sort of forgot about all that. I’ll… I’ll manage that myself. Can I just send it with a the lads when they deliver the groceries?”

“Absolutely. And there’s no hurry, don’t believe there is. Strange and callous, frankly, as it sounds, this is all routine and no different that if your dear old Aunt Rose passed away. Take your time and do things at your own pace. There _is_ one form you need to complete and that’ll be emailed to you. Again, there’s no rush to submit it and it’s only an account of what happened or you think happened. Normally, the evidence that a Visitor has died is fairly obvious, but this is a different case, so it’ll stand as the official notification and story in the records. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong. Just a sentence or two to document the passing is sufficient.”

Oh goody, I get to falsify an official government document. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll get there one day, Mycroft, and I’ll be there waiting for you. To box your ears.

“I’ll keep watch for it, then. Any other paperwork? I’m somewhat of a professional when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“For you, no. I have a few things to do to close Mycroft’s file and, of course, settle John’s situation but that’s not on you to accomplish.”

If, by some miracle, that teeny bastard of a doctor comes back, he’s going to have a devil of a time explaining things and getting his affairs back in order. That’s brilliant!

“Alright, then. I suppose it really _will_ be just continuing on with my life and making the most of it.”

“Succinctly said. Well, I should pay my respects to the base command and make a start on a few things. I’ll pop in tomorrow and update you on matters. Is there anything I can do for you now, though? I’m here for you, Greg, and I don’t want you thinking for a moment you don’t have a willing ear to listen or pair of hands to help with something you want to do.”

Not today, Mike, because I have too many lies to craft and practice and I need to squeeze a solid drunken stupor in there somewhere because it’s the most sensible-sounding action for me to take at the moment. I’ll let you know, though, because it’s meaning more to me than you can imagine that someone is actually offering support. It means the world, actually.

“Right now, I’m ready for a hot shower, a good meal, a bit of telly and a long sleep. But, I’m grateful for the offer. Genuinely grateful, not simply saying that to be polite. I appreciate _greatly_ that you came here and are willing to keep me on my proverbial feet. And if you need someone to talk to, about John, I mean, I’m here to listen. I know he was a friend.”

“An old one. Lots of water under that bridge and what ludicrous water it was. I’m thinking… how about we have a pint or three tomorrow in his honor. There’s a respectable pub in that quaint little seaside town you haven’t seen any of and I can show you about a bit before we settle in for some story-sharing and lager-quaffing.”

That is the best idea ever had by anyone in the world.

“Sounds good to me! I don’t think my social calendar is too full tomorrow, so I can squeeze you in without much fuss and bother.”

“I’ll phone when I’m on my way, then. Do your best to get some rest tonight, Greg. Did you raid John’s pain meds?”

“A small raid. I just had…”

Lies lies lies…

“… muscle tension or fatigue or pain or… I don’t know.”

Actually, I do know, but I also can’t have you asking to see if I did myself a mischief hurling logs about. Already checked though, to quash your concerns. Not that you’ll know because I can never speak of this, of course, but the old body is holding up like a champion. It’s a victory I’ll claim proudly and, given today’s lunacy, every victory is a sweet one to savor.

“Bodies respond to trauma in many ways physical, mental and emotional. It’s expected, but stay alert, nonetheless. You have a lot to process with both this shock and the continued situation of your own life and health. It’s better to head off problems early than try to work through them once they’ve dug in a bit.”

“I understand. John… John would tell me things like that, too.”

“He learned from the best! Alright, then. Goodnight, Greg. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mike. And thanks, really, for coming.”

Stamford rose and left his empty teacup on the kitchen table before favoring Greg with a genial smile and stepping out into the brisk night air. It wasn’t until Greg heard the sound of the car pulling away from the cottage that he heaved a large sigh of relief and took a moment to calm the warring emotions inside of him. Anger, frustration, fear, confusion, sadness and, just maybe, a little bit of hope.

He wasn’t alone. Not entirely, that is, and that someone was willing to show concern and offer help… it meant a lot. And, if he would drag his brain out of the pity pit it was wallowing in despite his best efforts at avoiding it, he was going to see the same from Anderson, Donovan and any of his friends he notified about his change of situation.

Yes, he was physically alone right now, but that didn’t mean he was forgotten. Or ignored. He liked to consider himself a caring person, the sort who would make certain someone in his position had a line of support ready when they needed it, so why was it so fucking hard to believe anyone would do the same for him? He’d need to start believing it, though. He was going to need those willing ears now and again. He needed… and wanted… the chance to remind himself that he was still connected to his world and the people in it.

Because, like it or not, this was the only world that would have him, so he’d make sure his roots were firmly planted before the end. If your roots were set, if they were firm and deep, you could endure even the bitterest, darkest clutches of mortal winter. There would always be little sprouts popping up, a memory here, a story there, that kept you alive for a very long time, indeed, once the rest of you shriveled up and blew away…


	34. Chapter 34

Item #1 - Broke the news to Anderson and Donovan about Mycroft. His Nibs would outwardly mock the fact, probably, that they were both grieved to hear the news, but he’d inwardly treasure the fact that he had been viewed fondly and that people mourned his loss. And, as an Item #1a, they have a date in mind for a venture forth from London to have a look at what all the fuss is about in this little scenic corner of nowhere.

Item #2 – Attended John’s service. The bastard would have been happy with it. Simple, tasteful with people speaking briefly about him in the small chapel and speaking in great detail about him afterwards during the party that followed. Lots of sharing fond memories, embarrassing stories and celebrating his life in a grand and joyful way.

Item #3 – It came as a surprise that a village as small as the one near the cottage had a tattoo artist, even if the chap was a house painter by trade. Now, his ‘birthmark’ had a few touches so instead of looking like a big red strip, it looked like a monkey riding a bicycle, with basket on the front, along a red dirt road towards a tree full of bananas. Simple, quick to heal and… cute. Fine, yes, he’d actually wanted a tattoo when he was younger but decided against it when his mum told him in no uncertain terms what would happen to his arse if he came home with something that he couldn’t change his mind on later. Piercings, makeup, hair – go fucking wild, but nothing permanent. Now, who cared? He had a little monkey friend to talk to whenever he liked and who would help guard a certain secret once he wasn’t here, per se, to continue hiding it himself.

Item #4 – the house was cleared. All Mycroft’s personal items had been removed and sent to those who could make good use of them. He had his photos on his phone to treasure, bits of video he’d taken, a few of the rocks Mycroft had collected on their walks and had taken to using one of the Coke bottles he’d found in Mycroft’s room as a little vase for a few paper flowers he’d bought in the village. Yes, they were red, but there wasn’t a single thing wrong with that. He wasn’t moping or standing on the shore wailing into the wind. Having little things about the place to remind him of Mycroft made him happy, so fuck off to anyone who thought differently. He was moving on but neither with a leaden heart or a deluded one, either. Mycroft was gone, but they’d shared something amazing and he’d celebrate it and the memory of their time together in little ways until his time was done.

Item #5 – he had a folder. Not the sort he used to have filled with details of a sadly deceased person, but a travel folder. Information on places he was considering visiting. Short holidays he could take while his energy and physical condition was still good. He even had a few mates who’d expressed interest in following along for one of them if the timing worked out. Might take them up on the offer, might not. It would depend. He’d never really traveled alone and, strangely, was a touch eager to try it. Do things he wanted to do, at a pace that fit him. Eat when he wanted, linger where he felt the urge… wander. Just wander about for a bit with no firm agenda except letting chance take the reins and see where it led him.

Item #6 – stop making lists.

Seriously, in the two weeks since The Great Departure, he’d shown himself that he was going to be fine. Pockets of sadness, here and there, of course, but they were manageable. Ok, so there were some bad days mixed among the fine days. Days it seemed that the clock both raced and stood still at the same time. When his mind was thick with a fog that bathed all his thoughts in a wistful, haunted mist that managed to summon up the imps and demons that normally stayed locked away. Some were about Mycroft. Some were about his health. Some were about nothing he could set his finger on precisely, but that’s when living alone aside a wild and beautiful sea came in handy. He could sit on Mycroft’s bench and look out over that sea for a long, long time and let it work its magic to clear those haunted thoughts from his head. It did a better job than watching the telly or reading a book. Something about the simple, yet endlessly complex workings of wind and water created an immensely effective brain washer and when he needed it, he didn’t hesitate.

Now, time to move on with the day. It was a busy one. Make a final decision about where he’d like his first holiday to be and make the arrangements since travel and lodging costs he’d researched were on the low side at the moment and he should take advantage of that before they started to rise. Then he had a solid afternoon of finishing the mystery novel he’d started yesterday because he’d stumbled onto the world that is the book community online and the author of this particular tome was livestreaming a Q&A and discussing this book _and_ the upcoming sequel. That was free, quality entertainment that didn’t rot the brain, which was novel for him. And tomorrow was Anderson’s off day, which was partly to be devoted to attempting to, in his pitiful words, ‘trounce you mightily, Greg’ on one of those online videogames. They’d picked one neither of them had played before but, of course, both had cheated at by practicing beforehand, so it should be a well-matched battle. One that he would win, though. That was simply an indisputable fact. Anderson thought he was too old and feeble to know about things like how to cheat at videogames, but he was so, so wrong…

__________

“What on Earth… a monkey?”

Greg grinned widely at Stamford who’d driven up for the first scheduled health check and felt some confidence that his act of camouflage was working.

“Like it? Always wanted a tattoo so I decided there was no reason to wait any longer.”

“And it had nothing to do with all this this scarring you’ve got from what I’ll assume are John’s sutures?”

Shit. Camo fail. But, he’d had a lot of time to add to his sack of lies.

“Fine. There was one more little incident with Mycroft. He was listening with headphones to a radio programme and I startled him. He responded a bit… poorly. John did a little… lot… of sewing to put me back together again and, since I was set to heal nicely, I asked John not to add it to any official record. Besides, rather than boo-hoo about a bit of scarring, I decided to make the most of it! I really did want a tattoo since I was a rough little punk and the shape of a section, as well as Mycroft being red, gave me an idea. Thought about doing something with the Red Brick Road from the _Wizard of Oz_ , but I liked this idea better. I’ve always enjoyed photos of beautiful wilderness with a bright red dirt road running through it and… it all fit.”

And I hope it fits in your mind, good sir, because it took me an entire morning to pull together all the details for that bit of nonsense and practice so that it sounded natural when I said it aloud.

“Only you, Greg. Only you. But, I suspect Mycroft would be flattered by your honorarium. In any case all that looks to be in good shape, what I would expect of John’s handiwork, so we’ll just admire the beauty of your hungry little monkey and ignore the somewhat painful history. How are you doing besides sporting new body art?”

“I’d say good, overall. I’m a little tired lately, but I’ve also been fairly active.”

“I meant to ask, how was Florence?”

“Marvelous! I’ve been to Rome and Venice, but never made it to Florence. Did loads of walking and standing viewing all those amazing works of art and architecture. Three days wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a fantastic trip.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. I’ve always got an ear out for a worthwhile place to spend some holiday time. How are you eating?”

“Quality or quantity?”

“Both.”

“Ummm… still trying to cook and make healthy things instead of relying on fast and not-so-healthy. I do admit I haven’t been as hungry as I typically am but, again, I’ve also been staying fairly active and I noticed that even on the job – the busier I was, the less hungry I tended to be. Of course, then I slowed down a bit and ate everything in sight to compensate.”

“Are you doing that now?”

“Nnnnnn…. ot really.”

“So, reduced appetite, but keeping what you do eat nutritionally sound. Alright, I’d say add in some extra calories here and there when you can. If necessary, I can recommend some nutritional drinks that are actually fairly tasty, but are good for adding some useful calories and protein to the diet. Sleeping?”

“Getting plenty of that, thank you.”

“Normal plenty or extra plenty? Or less than plenty?”

“I’d say… more than normal, but it’s in the form of naps which I’ve always enjoyed but never really had the opportunity to indulge terribly much.”

“Alright, I’ll make note of it, but also note it could be normal for your change of living circumstances. Anything else you’ve noticed?”

“Probably loads, but nothing I can remember right now.”

“You’d be surprised how common that is. As soon as I leave, you’ll remember ten things you likely should have told me. Jot them down and you can send them along in an email or phone with an update.”

Greg nodded and left Stamford to the usual poking, prodding, listening and scribbling notes on what all that discovered.

“Alright now, just let me drain your blood and then I should be done. I’ll leave you a few spoonsful to move around all those extra calories you’ll be putting into you.”

“That’s very kind. Anything you notice immediately or do I have to wait for test results?”

“Nothing I wouldn’t expect. You’ve lost some weight and muscle mass. The extra fatigue could be related to that, but we’ll see how it progresses. Reflexes are good, all the little physical exam things like blood pressure and lung sounds get a passing mark. Overall, I’m not particularly concerned about anything.”

“Because it’s all normal for this point along the timeline?”

“Effectively. The blood work will give me more information and things can change quickly, but it’s still a good report, I’d say. Good enough that your little hop to Iceland.”

“I still can’t believe I’m going. I was ready to book something for Spain or Portugal, then remembered that I can do whatever I want right now and I’ve seen so many photos that I want to go there in person. A touch pricier than I’d planned but, again, I can do whatever I want, within reason, and… why the fuck not?”

“I agree completely. Take the opportunity to do those things you just never thought possible, oddly, even though you know full well they are. Don’t overdo things, though. Hate to have your lovely holiday disrupted by a brace of rescue personnel trotting off to rescue you from a glacier because you drained your batteries halfway along.”

“I _have_ accounted for that, actually. Planning ahead is my forte. Ok, that’s a complete lie, but I stepped out of character a moment to save myself some profound embarrassment.”

“Always a smart idea. All things considered, I’d say you’re cleared for travel and whatever shenanigans you have planned, embarrassing or not. I’ll let you know if I find anything worrying in your lab results, otherwise, until we meet again for your next check, have fun and don’t hesitate to phone if you have a question or concern. And, now that the formal doctor things are done, I’m ready for my promised lager and comfortable seat to watch the match.”

“I’ve got both at the ready! You starting back to London tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon. I’ve got a video conference with the base command and a few other Visitor locations to, effectively, gossip and share stories, though officially it’s called a situational assessment. Make certain everyone is current with recent regulations and ready to receive guests, as need be. The nice part here is that I’ll be part of a group phoning in and not on my own, so I can budge over off camera and nap or do a bit of reading and nobody’s the wiser.”

“That’s a blessing. What’s not a blessing is that your side is going to be annihilated tonight. My lads are in fine form this year, so prepare to ask for something to dry your tears of defeat.”

“Mental confusion and a profound disconnect with reality. I’ll make a note in your chart.”

“Is there a treatment for that?”

“More lager.”

“Good. I’ve got a full prescription waiting for me then and I am willing to share.”

“I thought the police were against that sort of thing.”

“Fuck the police.”

“Introduce me to a few smart, interesting ones and I just might.”

__________

“Greg! This is gorgeous. It’s absolutely, positively gorgeous. You don’t deserve it.”

“Thank you, Donovan. I knew I could count on you to state the unvarnished truth. Come in, though if you want to leave Anderson out here, I certainly won’t complain.”

Anderson made the expected rude gesture but it fell a little short of its usual mark of petulance given he was, like Donovan, enthralled by Greg’s little slice of paradise.

“Fuck and you, Greg. But, this _is_ an amazing place. And the cottage is _maybe_ small enough for you to actually keep tidy.”

“The clutter war is real, but it’s a battle I’m determined to win.”

Greg proudly waved his arm around the small space and urged his friends towards seats. It had taken a bit before they could get away from work, but it was worth the wait. It did his heart good to see them in person.

“You both look lazy and disreputable. Are they going to let you back into London, do you think?”

Donovan snorted but entertained for a brief second the idea of retiring to something like this in her future, even though she’d always said she’d breathe her last in that wretched, incredible city of London. It suited Greg, though. Especially now. The poor man looked terrible.

“You’re looking fairly shit, but that’s normal for you, so not much has changed. I do like this cottage, though. Good fire, good book, comfortable chair… that’s a night made in heaven.”

“And I visit that heaven, dear Donovan, every chance I get. I’ve gotten more reading done than ever in my life and I’m loving it, I have to admit. Watch a film when I want, read a book, do a puzzle, pop in at the pub if I want a bit of conversation… if you told my younger self that I’d treasure all of this, he would have laughed in your face and given your head a thump, but I really do. I treasure all of this. Old man Greg passes that along to you toddlers – don’t put off doing things you want to do. Things that you even think you _might_ want to do. Find the things you treasure, things that’ll make phenomenal memories and just do them. Don’t say to yourself you have plenty of time because it’ll go by faster than you can imagine.”

The sad fervency in Greg’s voice towards the end of that speech wasn’t lost on either Anderson or Donovan who recognized that Greg was not _that_ much older them and he was, himself, only now coming to see this point of view with genuine clarity.

“Convince us, then. Tell me and the bearded wonder all the things you’ve been doing and make us envious. Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Giggling merrily, Greg set down the beer bottles he’d opened on the side table for the bearded wonder to distribute and hurried to get his tablet to display his holiday photos. Iceland had been… he couldn’t express how beautiful it was. He’d nearly wept at the sight of auroras lighting up the night sky and the breathtaking splendor of the landscape. If he could convince those two nutters to seize life with both hands, then he’d consider his hundred thousand tourist snaps to be well worth it. At least they were digital now. Much better than the legions of photo books his mum kept to terrorize visitors. And much lighter, too. You could fracture a skull with the collection of his parent’s wedding photos and still have to look through each of them or his mum would ‘forget’ to include you when it came time to send out the year’s Christmas cards…

__________

“Any pain?”

“No, I seem to be spared that particular hell on Earth. And, believe, me I am _not_ complaining.”

“Nor should you. Appetite?”

“Not great. I make sure to eat, though, even if I don’t particularly feel the urge.”

“Smart. Drinking those nutritional beverages I advised?”

“My afternoon refresher.”

“Any mouth or lip dryness?”

“A bit. Nothing a sip of water won’t cure.”

“Alright. Fatigue?”

“That’s… yeah, I’m noticing that a lot. Some days all I really want to do is sleep. I’m good about fighting through that, though, and at least getting in some activity before dropping off for another nap.”

“And by activity you mean…”

“Showering, shaving, having a coffee, bit of tidying the house… depending on the weather, I may sit outside awhile, reading or listening to something on my phone. Been listening to audiobooks, too. They seem to keep my attention a touch better than a normal book. My brain tends to wander for some reason when I’m simply trying to read.”

“Ok, that sounds good. Talked to your friends recently?”

“Oh yeah. I’d say not a day goes by someone doesn’t ring me up or set up a video chat. Sometimes I think they’ve made a schedule.”

“They might, actually. Family and friends sometimes coordinate their efforts to ensure their loved one is cared for and everyone gets the chance to participate and share time with that person. Does it upset you?”

“Not really. I mean, I don’t want to be a bother or a burden, but it’s nice to hear their news and what’s going on in the world. I don’t bother following the actual news anymore, but they make certain I hear the particularly ludicrous bits of it. Got a film recommendation yesterday that’s tonight’s entertainment. It’s… it’s a good thing, I’d say.”

“It is. They wouldn’t do it if they didn’t care, so take that to heart.”

Stamford sighed and put his stethoscope back into his bag, pausing a moment to write a few final notes about his observations.

“Well… that’s my doctory things done. Feel duly violated?”

“Always! At least it’s the same violations every time, so I know what to expect. Any surprises?”

“Not a one! You are the model of a textbook patient. Makes my job much easier.”

“I aim to please. Do you… do you have any idea how much time I have left?”

“Truthfully. We’re in the weeks area, Greg, not months. Start checking that your affairs are in order and make any adjustments you’ve been considering. We should discuss, though, how you want this to play out. When you reach a certain point, it might be more comfortable for you if you moved to the base infirmary or even returned to London to my facility. Would you like me to arrange that?”

“No. That’s one thing I’m certain of. I did some reading, thought a lot about it and, while it might offer some advantages to be under constant care, I’d rather stay here.”

“That’s fine with me. I can arrange, if you’d prefer, someone to serve as a carer for you. Your last days could be difficult ones to manage alone.”

“Thought a lot about that, too. Honestly… I’d rather be alone. Not in the maudlin, defeatist way, but because I want to go out, so to speak, on my own two feet. Every time I consider having someone here, I feel… claustrophobic. Like they’d be an invader, even though they’re there to help.”

“Ok, that’s fine, too. In that case, what I would like to do, if you’ll allow it, is give you a health monitor to wear. They’re like a simple bracelet now, not like in the olden days. It’ll sync to an app so that I and the local medical team can monitor you.”

“So you know when I die?”

“To put it bluntly, though it’s not the only reason. You might have another type of emergency that wouldn’t mean tragic things if someone got you help in time. For example, you still have your emergency button, but you may be more prone to a fall now and if you give your head a knock, it won’t do you a great deal of good. The monitor I’m considering _will_ alert the local team to respond. Each day is precious now, Greg, and you don’t want to lose any because you tripped over a rug.”

“That’s true. Sure, I’d be glad to wear one. Are they waterproof?”

“These are, yes, so once you put it on, you won’t have to worry about taking it off again.”

“Perfect, because I killed many a non-waterproof watch in my day. Alright, then… a celebratory drink for reaching a successful compromise? I tried a new brand of tea and it’s actually fairly marvelous.”

“Set me up! And since you mentioned it, I can use a few film recommendations myself. The last few I’ve watched were simply dreadful and I’m tired of spending my hard-earned wage on renting rubbish.”

“Oh, I have a list of excellent films to pass along.”

“Trashy and guaranteed to entertain while offering no intellectual stimulation whatsoever?”

“Precisely.”

“Hold on, let me get a pen.”

__________

“Greg! How are things? You’re looking…”

Like this is very likely the last time I’ll talk to you.

“… as ugly as ever.”

“Uglier, but I’ve decided to go for a personal best, so I suspect I can eke out a bit more ugliness if I try. How are things in the working world, Anderson, you lazy bastard?”

“Same as always. We win some, we lose some. Lately, more wins and losses, though, I’d say.”

“Anything interesting to sh… share?”

The answer had to wait a moment while Greg coughed, but Philip used the time to grab his mobile and text Donovan to chat with Greg today or tomorrow. It might prove important.

“Decapitation case landed in our lap.”

“That’s not interesting. We’ve had those before.”

“Not one where the head was not only severed from the neck, the cut in two, lengthwise, afterwards. And presented affixed to each side of a melon.”

“Yeah, that’s a new one! No matter how many years you’re on the job, something can always come along to surprise you. Leads?”

“A few. We’re waiting for the rest of the forensics to come in but there’s a few individuals we’ll be chatting with by weeks’ end.”

“Good. I’ll be interested to see what you find out.”

Don’t smile wryly at me, Greg. Don’t fucking do it, you arse. That’s not a pain I want to bear. Time to lighten the mood, methinks…

“In the meantime, you useless former copper, we need to think of a name for this creative individual. Got any ideas?”

_ That’s _ the Greg Lestrade smile I know so well. Not a bit of wryness in it. Thank heavens…

“Well, you useless current copper, The Melon Head Killer is the obvious choice, but that sounds like the villain in a children’s book.”

“Some might argue all we’re good for is solving crimes suitable for a children’s book.”

“You know, we actually never solved that one where plush panda bears were left at the scene of those three stabbings.”

“Doesn’t qualify. The pandas weren’t the murderers.”

“And we know that how?”

“No blood stains on their hands.”

“Maybe they wore gloves.”

“They’d have to be small.”

“They could use condoms as gloves.”

“Greg… are you the Panda Bear Stabber?”

“No. And, for the record, the panda bears weren’t stabbed.”

“That sounds like something the Panda Bear Stabber would say.”

“Hey, how’s Arsenal doing lately?”

“I am noting this conversation for the record, as well as your sad attempt at deflection away from it.”

“You can’t read your own handwriting, Panderson, so I’m not worried.”

“Shit.”

__________

This… this is a day of days. Look at those waves! And the sky is just glorious. Not a drop of rain yet, but the thunder is rolling like the roar of lions and those clouds… giants. Giants marching across the sky. He was so happy he’d asked for a lawn chair be delivered so he could sit outside more comfortably than on the bench.

It was next to him, though. And, it wasn’t even difficult to imagine Mycroft sitting on that bench taking in the stupendous view with him. Mycroft had enjoyed this sort of weather. Admired that their little planet could deliver this gorgeous display. It was savage and wild and beautiful and exactly the sort of thing Mycroft appreciated, even if it wasn’t as colorful as what he saw on his own world.

And, sitting here, drinking in the splendor, it was a fine way to end this week. Maybe end more than this week. It had been a good one. Mr. Popular! Seemed everyone he knew was anxious to sit and chat, thought that chatting was done remotely. Even did a group film watch, which was a genuine treat. Five people sitting on their own sofas watching a film together and making merry of it, since it really was something hilarious and clever. Stamford was right. They cared. Honestly and openly, they cared. That meant a lot. Meant a very, very, very lot.

He was tired, though. And growing ever more tired by the minute. The time where a bit of sleep could help with that was gone. Sleep was no different than sitting in this chair, except his eyes were closed. Climbing in and out of bed was difficult, now, though. Even the simplest things, simpler even than that, were horribly difficult. Sitting, standing, breathing, eating… the conversations he'd had the past two days took everything out of him and he had to stop a few times during each to catch his breath.

As it was, it took everything he had to walk out here to watch this glory. Every shambling step was worth it, though. It was _absolutely_ worth it because… look at that! So much he loved about life, the energy, the vitality, the beauty, the unpredictability and defiance of the safe and easy… it was right there in front of his eyes. He’d lost some of that as he got older. When mistakes and failed risks had gotten more costly, not only for him but for others around him, too. If he was a lesser man, he wouldn’t have cared, but he cared greatly, so he bartered some of that wildness for reason and practicality.

He’d make the same choice again, no question about it, but if he could change one thing, he might hold onto a little of the ferocity of his younger days. The same ferocity he saw in the water crashing onto shore and in the lightning arcing from cloud to cloud, he’d had loads of and maybe he’d lost too much as he aged. Or maybe not. Maybe it’d just take a different form. Became tenacity. A thirst to seek justice for those who’d been wronged. He’d never trade those for the world, not in a million years. He’d done a lot of good because of them. Helped people and made a difference. The man he was made possible the man he’d become and… he was pleased with that result.

He was quieter now, that much was certain. Someone not as vivid or as lustrous as the boy of his youth, but a man he was proud to be. He was _proud_ of Greg Lestrade. That man had done a lot! Been through a lot, too. And, now, he could look back at his life and may wish he could tinker with a few things, add some things in and toss some things out, but he was satisfied. More than satisfied, really. And, most surprising of all, even with the bulk of his life behind him, with his own self winding down to the end, he’d found love.

He hadn’t lost it, either. It was still there, nestled in his heart, to take with him wherever he was preparing to go. It didn’t make dying easier, because it already was easy, in truth. Just let nature take its course and it comes, following its own schedule, arriving at the precise moment of its choosing. You don’t have to lift a finger! But, Mycroft’s love did make dying… softer. It dulled the sharper edges, warmed the cooler corners. It was quite the contrast to the hard-edged chaos going on around him, but he relished it.

He was tired, though. Very, very tired. So tired that even this brilliant expression of nature’s passion and wonder wasn’t keeping his eyes from drooping with what felt like the weight of the world dragging his eyelids closed. A nap certainly wouldn’t be amiss right now. A long, long nap. It wouldn’t even matter if it started to rain. His helpful bracelet was waterproof…


End file.
